


Dragonflight

by MirrorMystic



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, Recovery, and generally just a lot of gals being pals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 82,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: She who saves one life saves the world entire.In that moment, as she knelt in the magic circle, weeping smoke, dripping tar… she looked up at her rose-haired savior, haloed in the morning light, and in that moment, three things became clear.Her little girl was all grown up. She had saved her life, reclaimed a mind from darkness.And if Sister Genny can save one witch, she just might be able to save them all...





	1. Little Sisters

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, everyone, to "Dragonflight", an *utterly* self-indulgent postgame SoV fic where the team fights demons, the girls love girls, Priestesses get to wear pants and Genny gets to be happy- even if she doesn't get enough time to work on that fic she's itching to write. I hope you all enjoy the read! ^^
> 
> All my Echoes fics are loosely connected. This one, though, is tied pretty strongly to [Providence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442012), so if you haven't read that one yet, I'd urge you to give it a look, although it's by no means mandatory. 
> 
> I'll be adjusting the tags as spoiler characters get revealed. I hope you're all buckled in for my take on a post-Echoes Creature Campaign. Enjoy!

~*~  
  
“Do you play?”  
  
The poet looked up. He met the scholar’s eyes, twinkling by the light of the campfire, and followed her gaze to the flute hanging from his tunic belt, beside a sheathed dagger carved from a dragon’s fang. He felt the keen pinprick of memory- in his head, and in his heart. He sighed.  
  
“I used to,” he shrugged. “Not anymore. Maybe I will again, once my task is done.”  
  
“Perhaps a story, then?” The scholar offered. She pulled an almost comically large tome from her pack, almost as broad as her own shoulders. “Perhaps a tale we might add to the Wicked Book?”  
  
The poet blinked. “...What’s… so wicked about it…?”  
  
“Personal jest,” the scholar’s partner chimed in, returning with an armful of firewood. He took a seat beside her, affectionately bumping an elbow against hers.  
  
“It’s no jest,” she protested, her face utterly serious. “It’s a perfectly apt name.”  
  
“There was a time,” her partner continued, “when I faced a choice between a life of piety and joining her on her quest to chronicle the whole of the world’s knowledge in a single tome. Hence, the ‘Wicked’ Book.”  
  
“You chose your heathen path,” the scholar said, deadpan.  
  
“I chose _you_ ,” he corrected.  
  
“A chronicle of the world’s knowledge?” The poet asked. “I would be honored to contribute.”  
  
“A tale, then?” The cleric asked, adjusting the seafoam cloak pinned around his shoulders. “The Fall of the Black Fang, perhaps? The Tragedy of Lehran?”  
  
The poet shook his head. “Have you ever heard the tale of the Rose Crusade?”  
  
The scholars shook their heads and leaned forward, intrigued. The poet took a log and set it on the fire, sending a flurry of embers dancing in the air.  
  
“It began, like so many things begin, with an act of love,” the poet began. “In a world without gods, one woman performed a _miracle_ …”  
  
~*~  
  
_She thought she’d be ready._ _  
_ _  
_ _She clutches the scroll of parchment to her chest, its luminescent sigils emanating warmth and light in this cold, shadowed place._ _  
_ _  
_ _How long had it taken her to reach this moment? Writing the spell took the best part of the year, even with Mae, Boey and the Novis Archives on her side… another few weeks to Zofia Castle, two weeks on horseback to the base of the mountain…_ _  
_ _  
_ _She’d had a year to prepare._ _  
_ _  
_ _She wasn’t ready to see her like this._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Little one… you’ve come a long way...”_ _  
_ _  
_ _She grits her teeth, her trepidation suddenly subsumed by righteous anger. How dare she? How dare that imposter, that daemon, wear her face, speak in her voice…?!_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Get out,” Genny seethes. “Get out, get out, get out,_ **_get out_ ** _…!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The frantic mantra rings through the vaulted ceiling of the manse on the mountain, echoed by the fluttering of leathery wings and the metal scraping of rusty scythes. Gargoyles materialize out of the night and descend upon her, laughing like jackals, their blades clanging against Genny’s staff and the Dracoshield shimmering on her left arm. Beneath their gleeful howls and the shriek of metal against metal, Genny hears the rumbling of revenants clawing their way out of the earth._ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny grits her teeth, righteous anger building in her core. She isn’t here for these lesser terrors- she has a greater task to accomplish. The fire in her veins surges through her fingers and manifests atop her staff, blazing like a torch. Genny cries out and plunges her staff into the ground. Golden light explodes around her, obliterating the mob of gibbering maws and clawing hands, reducing them all to ash and dust-_ _  
_ _  
_ _-save for the woman that appears behind her in a coil of smoke and shadow, laying her hands on her shoulders in a twisted mockery of affection._ _  
_ _  
_ _“_ **_Death_ ** _,” the daemon speaks, through her mother’s mouth._ _  
_ _  
_ _For a moment, just a moment, she feels the withering decay seep in through her skin-_ _  
_ _  
_ _-and then her partner slams into the sorceress and sends them both skittering across the tiled floor. The sorceress hisses in indignation, gathers a foul violet light in her hands, and unleashes the toxic beam upon him. The beam crashes against the flat of his sword, squealing like wet glass. Saber grimaces beneath the weight of the blow, the cascading wave of dark magic deflecting across his blade and the protective wards of his armor. He cringes as a crack appears in his sword, growing into a spiderweb of fracturing metal._ _  
_ _  
_ _Saber grunts and cries out._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Do it, kid!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _And just as the sorceress turns towards her, she throws her arm to the side, unveiling the spell it took her a year to perfect- the spell she’d prepared for just this moment._ _  
_ _  
_ _There is a look of something in the sorceress’ eyes, the slightest glint of recognition. Then the daemon seizes her limbs and throws her arms forward, firing another beam of that unholy violet light._ _  
_ _  
_ _Golden sigils lift off the parchment scroll and orbit around her, forming concentric rings of raw mana shimmering in the air. Power thrums around her, rumbling beneath her feet, in her fingers, soaring through her veins._ _  
_ _  
_ _Dark magic cascades past her, slipping past her radiant aura like oil and water. Genny stands, unbowed, before the flood of darkness, her staff in one hand, the other raised in benediction. The power gathered in her body culminates in a single word, a commandment that soars across the mountain like a thunderclap:_ _  
_ _  
_ _“_ **_Release!_ ** _”_  
  
~*~  
  
Genny shook herself out of the memory. She blinked and ran her fingers through her rosy hair, drowsiness and fatigue clinging to her like fog. It took her a moment to remember where she was- on horseback, the Dracoshield safe in her saddlebags, her staff laid across the saddle, and the imposing silhouette of Zofia Castle rising in the distance.  
  
Genny’s chin drooped forward, and she yawned. She was exhausted down to her bones, and beset by the sort of morbid daydreaming that one got up to when they’ve gone too long without enough sleep. Except this wasn’t just sleeplessness at work- this was a deeper fatigue, a soul fatigue, the one that came from putting her heart into a spell.  
  
What was it that Mae always said? Casting takes life to pull off right?  
  
What happens when you put too much of your life into a spell? There’s a certain poetry in that, Genny thought, one life for another. A certain… equilibrium…  
  
Genny snapped awake with a gasp. She’d dozed off for a split second, and she’d already forgotten what she was thinking about. Something morbid and self-deprecating, probably.  
  
Genny’s steed snuffled beneath her, and she sighed, wearily patting her flank.  
  
“Yeah, me too…” Genny murmured.  
  
An exhausted cleric, on an equally exhausted mare, trudging their way up the road to Zofia Castle… hardly the sort of thing the bards would sing about. If it were up to her, she’d write it a bit differently- a hero on a white stallion, returning in triumph from a quest thought doomed to failure. That’s what Saber would have looked like, when she’d insisted on sending him ahead- the grizzled swordfighter on his noble steed bursting onto the castle grounds, a comely maiden in his arms-  
  
Genny stopped, and made a face. This fantasy of hers was suddenly a lot less ‘heroic’ and more ‘how your parents fell in love’. Not that they knew each other like that, or that either of them were her ‘parents’, per se, but…  
  
A cry from the lookout tower shook Genny from her daydreaming.  
  
“Halt! Who goes there!”  
  
Genny swallowed hard. “...Sister Genny, of Novis Priory…”  
  
“Open the gate! You open this gate _right now_ , mister!”  
  
Genny smiled through her exhaustion, and dismounted. A bout of lightheadedness struck her as soon as her boots hit the ground. She swayed, dizzy, steadying herself against her saddle-  
  
-only for a pink comet to burst out of the castle gates and all but throw her off her feet.  
  
“ _Genny!_ ” Mae shrieked, pulling the younger girl into a backbreaking hug.  
  
Genny sighed- or rather, got all the air squeezed out of her lungs- and lay her chin on Mae’s shoulder. She was like a ragdoll in Mae’s arms, she was so tired, but Mae seemed more than content to hold them both up.  
  
“You- you _idiot!_ ” Mae sniffled. “We were worried about you! Boey and I would have dropped everything to come with you, you know that!”  
  
“I do,” Genny smiled in apology. “But this was something I had to do myself.”  
  
“Oh, sure, you want to be a hero when it’s me and Boey volunteering, but as soon as _Celica_ assigns you a bodyguard…”  
  
Mae huffed in faux-indignation, taking Genny’s shoulders.  
  
“...Saber got here a week ago. He said you sent him ahead, that he worked his butt off to get here as fast as he did. Celica wrote me when you first set out, and I got here as soon as I could...” Mae met her eyes, hushed with awe. “Genny… the spell. Your spell. You did it.”  
  
There was something about the look in Mae’s eyes that made Genny feel lightheaded. She looked away.  
  
“I… I don’t know what I did.”  
  
“You’re here,” Mae said, squeezing Genny’s shoulders. “You’re safe, and so is she. It’s… it’s a miracle, Genny. Mila provides.”  
  
“Mila provides,” Genny echoed, and nodded. “Can I see her?”  
  
Mae ushered her in through the gates. Genny gave her mare to a stable hand, but not before retrieving the Dracoshield from her saddle bags. (“Where did you get that?” Mae asked, in wonder. “I borrowed it,” Genny replied, and giggled. “I imagine the King wants it back.”)  
  
Mae led Genny upstairs, past the thronging crowd of nobles and petitioners filling the audience hall. Celica caught Genny’s eyes through the crowd, and fought her hardest not to do as Mae did, and throw aside decorum to leap into Genny’s arms. Genny smiled and gave Celica a sheepish wave, before Mae swept her off her feet and up the steps.  
  
They found Silque in a corridor upstairs, carrying tea on a silver tray. She gasped at the sight of them, looking around frantically for a safe place to set down her tray, before rushing forward and drawing Genny into her second backbreaking hug of the day.  
  
“Oh, Genny…” Silque cooed, trailing a hand through Genny’s fluffy, rosy hair. She pressed a kiss to Genny’s forehead. “Bless you on your safe return. Mila provides.”  
  
“Mila provides,” Genny murmured, giggling. It felt nice, being doted on.  
  
“Come in, come in…” Silque said, scooping up her tea tray and easing open the door.  
  
Genny stepped inside in a hushed, reverent quiet. The room that greeted her gave her pause- simple, spare, illuminated by the wan morning light. It was like someone had cut out her old room at the priory and stuck it in the middle of Zofia Castle. It was like being back on Novis again- like coming home.  
  
Genny froze in the doorway, meeting the eyes of the woman in white convalescing in bed. She squeaked, her heart caught in her throat.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that,” Sonya teased. “I know white isn’t my color.”  
  
Genny felt her eyes prickle with tears. “Mother…!” she gasped.  
  
Sonya fondly rolled her eyes. “I’m not _that_ old…”  
  
Genny took a few tentative steps, before the dam burst and she fell to her knees at Sonya’s bedside, groping blindly at her sheets.  
  
“Mother… Mother…!” Genny wailed. Sonya pulled her close and shushed her, resting a hand in her hair.  
  
“Oh, little one…” Sonya cooed, blinking away proud tears. “You’ve come a long way.”  
  
Sonya held her as Genny wept and hiccuped into her chest, crying like a child. Silque set her tray of tea on the nightstand before joining Mae at the door. They exchanged proud glances.  
  
Celica appeared, and stopped short, her heart full to bursting at the sight before her. She turned and gave Silque a respectful nod, surreptitiously twining her fingers with Mae’s.  
  
“Mother Mila,” Celica breathed, in awe. “She did it.”  
  
“Yeah…” Mae murmured, laying her head against Celica’s shoulder. “So… you _are_ gonna throw her a banquet or something, right? She deserves it.”  
  
“She deserves more than anything I can give,” Celica said softly. “She… she saved a mind from darkness. No one’s ever done that before. It’s… it’s a miracle.”  
  
Mae nodded. “It will change Valentia.”  
  
“No,” Silque whispered, reverent. “It will change the world.”  
  
~*~  
  
“The Queen did throw her a banquet, of course,” the poet said. He laid another log on the fire, framing his dark eyes with glittering embers. “Royal couriers sent letters out to friends old and new, inviting them to a ceremony honoring Sister Genny and what the people were beginning to call ‘the Miracle on the Mountain’...”  
  
~*~  
  
_My dearest Mae,_ _  
_ _  
_ _How can I begin to put into words how I felt when I received your last letter? ‘Overjoyed’ seems like so lacking a term. What you describe… it is nothing less than a miracle. And though we had a hand in its creation, it was Genny’s hands that performed it. This will do more than change the Faith- it will change the world._ _  
_ _  
_ _That is why it pains me to say that I will be unable to attend the ceremony. Since Father Nomah’s passing, the priory is in our hands. We cannot both of us go abroad and leave the monastery unattended. While I will certainly keep the Faith in your stead, I cannot but yearn for your company. So many of us have gone- Celica, Genny, Silque. Nomah, too, now. And it’s far, far too quiet without you around._ _  
_ _  
_ _Do give my regards to Celica and Silque, and, as always, look after Genny. Even on this most auspicious of days, she will ever be our little sister._ _  
_ _  
_ _I await the day our little circle of Faithful can be reunited. But until that day, I await your return._ _  
_ _  
_ _With love, and light,_ _  
_ _\- Sage Boey, Novis Monastery_ _  
_  
~*~  
  
_Boey,_ _  
_ _  
_ _Why do you always have to write so funny?_ _  
_ _  
_ _It_ **_has_ ** _been a long time since we’ve all been together, which is why you’re_ **_not_ ** _gonna sit this out. Get Junior Lucien or somebody to watch the priory for awhile, get your butt on a ship, and get over here._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’ll see you at Zofia Castle in a week. You’re_ **_not_ ** _missing Genny’s big day._ _  
_ _  
_ _Oh, and Celica and I miss you. Obviously._ _  
_ _  
_ _Love,_ _  
_ _\- You Know Who I Am_ _  
_  
~*~  
  
Genny clutched her staff with both hands, but no matter how tightly she held it, the flutter in her fingers just wouldn’t go away. She stood, her head bowed in what she hoped passed for reverence, uncomfortably aware of just how many people were in this ballroom, and how many eyes were boring into her back.  
  
Then Alm stood, and struck the sheathed blade of the Royal Sword against the floor, and Genny breathed a sigh of relief, all those eyes now on him.  
  
“People of Valentia,” Alm said, in a voice that had been trained to carry. “We gather here today to honor a hero of the nation.”  
  
A royal aide stepped forward, bearing a velvet-lined box.  
  
“Sister Genny of Novis,” Alm intoned, “for your outstanding service against the monsters that yet plague our nation, I present to you the highest honor the Valentian military can award- the Valentian Order of the Rose.”  
  
Genny bowed her head. Alm reverently placed a silver ribbon around her neck- and a gleaming metal rose against her breast.  
  
“No one’s deserved this more,” Alm whispered into her ear.  
  
“Thank you, your majesty,” Genny said, her cheeks turning as pink as her hair.  
  
Cheers erupted through the room. Alm stepped back, and Celica rose to her feet. The sheathed blade of Beloved Zofia struck the floor like a gavel, calling for quiet.  
  
“As Queen of Valentia,” Celica intoned, “and High Priestess of Mila, I call upon the Mother to bless this day, and to bless the name of her servant before us. Mila provides.”  
  
“Mila provides,” the crowd echoed.  
  
“Sister Genny,” Celica said, her voice wavering. “...my Sister…”  
  
Celica swallowed hard. She laid Beloved Zofia across her arm and drew the blade.  
  
“Sister Genny, you have done what we all thought was impossible. You have saved the soul of a witch, brought a mind out of darkness and into the light… your hands have wrought a miracle, and we honor that today.”  
  
Genny knelt, blinking back tears, as Celica lay Beloved Zofia across her shoulders in turn.  
  
“I dub thee Saint Genny, Exalted, Beloved of the Mother,” Celica intoned. “May the world never forget your name.”  
  
Another wave of applause. Another choking back of tears. Genny drew her sleeve across her face, and rose to her feet.  
  
Genny swallowed hard, a king and queen before her and a kingdom behind. She turned, cringing inwardly at the size of the crowd and the expectant hush that fell over the room. Today wasn’t like anything she’d ever done before. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Her nerves were on fire-  
  
Mae caught her eyes from the front row, beside a beaming Silque and a Boey who was already driven to tears.  
  
_Breathe_ , Mae mouthed.  
  
Genny took a deep breath.  
  
“People of Valentia,” she began, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. “Six years ago, I joined my friend Celica- your Queen Anthiese- on a journey that would unite two warring kingdoms. That war is over, but we still do not have peace. Monsters still roam our lands, led by minds twisted and claimed by darkness- arcanists, cantors… witches. Through Mila’s blessing, I have reclaimed the mind of someone thought lost- someone whom I hold quite dear…”  
  
Genny exhaled. No turning back now.  
  
“...but I cannot stop there,” Genny said. “After this banquet, I shall embark on a pilgrimage- a mission to cleanse this land of terrors, and to reclaim every soul that has ever been lost to Duma’s madness. This do I swear… in Mila’s name…!”  
  
Genny raised her staff in two hands, and struck it against the floor, ringing like a bell through the audience hall.  
  
“Mila provides!” Genny declared.  
  
“Mila provides,” the crowd echoed, before bursting into rapturous applause. Genny descended the dais, clutching her staff in her hands, the air ringing with the weight of her words. She gently pushed her way through the crowd and retreated to an anteroom, where she finally took a moment to breathe.  
  
Someone clapped behind her, and Genny whirled around, her nerves fraying- only to smile and sigh when she saw who it was.  
  
“What did you _do_ ?” Sonya asked, grinning.  
  
Genny giggled, bashful.  
  
“I, um… I think I just started a war.”  
  
~*~  
  
The banquet was a night of singular magnificence. Despite the feasting, and the dancing, Genny couldn’t help but wish she was curled up somewhere with a good book, away from all the noise and the crowds. Still, she picked her way through the revelers, weathering the attention from friends old and new.  
  
“Good on you, girl!” Valbar said, clapping a hand into her back so forcefully she thought she would fall over. “Couldn’t have happened to a sweeter soul!”  
  
“I always knew you had it in you,” Leon smiled, flipping his hair.  
  
“You’re gonna roam the land fighting terrors, huh?” Kamui asked. “...I wonder how much money’s in that…”  
  
“It’s a holy mission, Kamui,” Leon chided. “She’s hardly out here to turn a _profit_ .”  
  
“What, she gets declared a Saint and suddenly she doesn’t need to eat?” Kamui wondered.  Valbar just gave a hearty laugh, threw an arm over his and Leon’s shoulders and ushered them away to join the feast.  
  
“Genny!”  
  
Genny perked up, only to see Est jumping and waving above the crowd. She broke into a smile, and Est broke into a _run_ , bowling over the other guests in her haste to wrap Genny in a hug. Est took Genny’s hands and bounced, rocking on her heels and grinning like a madwoman.  
  
“Est,” Genny smiled, overwhelmed by her welcome. “You made it.”  
  
“Of course I did,” Est beamed. “We all did!”  
  
“Even across the ocean, news travels fast,” Catria said, offering Genny a measured smile and a respectful nod. Genny nodded in turn.  
  
“Congratulations, Genny,” Palla said, emerging at Catria’s heels with a prim smile. “Or should I say ‘Lady Exalt’?”  
  
“S-Stop…” Genny murmured, embarrassed. “I’m just… me.”  
  
“Would that we all could be just like you,” Catria said proudly.  
  
“Celica- I mean- Queen Anthiese invited us,” Est said. “We weren’t gonna miss your big day!”  
  
“Unfortunately, our Commander expects us to return to our duties,” Palla lamented. “However, if you ever find yourself in Archanea, know that the Whitewings would be honored to fly at your side.”  
  
Genny smiled, and bowed her head. “Thank you. All of you. Please, enjoy the party…”  
  
Genny skirted the edges of the crowd, socially exhausted, but still managing to muster polite smiles for everyone who waved or looked her way. In her book- if she ever got around to writing it, that is- she’d be sure not to include this part. Every reunion would be joyous. The heroine would _never_ be too tired to see a friendly face.  
  
“Genny!” someone squealed.  
  
Genny had a split second to prepare herself before Mae had an arm around her neck and a fist digging into her scalp.  
  
“Oh, Mila, just look at you…!” Mae beamed.  
  
Boey emerged from the crowd, wiping his eyes. “Oh, Genny, we’re so proud of you.”  
  
Genny’s eyes lit up. “Boey!”  
  
“Yes, it’s me,” Boey said, drawing Genny into his arms. “When I heard about the ceremony, I dropped everything to come- I would never miss your special day.”  
  
Mae balked. “Why are you lying? _Why are you lying?!_ ”  
  
“Alright, well, I admit, I initially had _some_ concerns about the priory being without both its masters-” Boey sputtered as Mae drew him into an impromptu slappy fight. “Mae. Mae! Mae, this is not dignified, we are in the presence of a Saint!”  
  
Genny laughed, a hand over her mouth. “...I missed you,” she murmured.  
  
“It’s only been two months since you were on Novis, studying the cure,” Mae said.  
  
“And I missed you every day,” Genny said softly.  
  
Mae let out an anguished squeal and pulled Genny into her arms, while Boey smiled, fondly laying a hand in her hair.  
  
“You are Exalted, now,” Boey said reverently. “An exemplar of the faith. But wherever your mission leads… no matter where you are, Saint or not… you will always be a sister. Our sister.”  
  
“I love you,” Genny murmured, her voice wavering. “And thank you. I never could have done this without you…”  
  
“The honor is ours,” Boey said gently. “To think, little Sister Genny, performing a miracle…”  
  
“And _we_ helped her do it!” Mae said proudly. “You and me, Boey! Well, mostly me.”  
  
They laughed together, like they were kids again- until Genny exhaled, a shadow flickering across her eyes. She pulled away, feeling that flutter of nerves in her fingers again.  
  
“You okay?” Mae asked.  
  
“Yeah, yeah…” Genny murmured, offering her a smile. “I think I just need some air.”  
  
~*~  
  
_The manse atop Fear Mountain blazes like a lighthouse for one, dreadful, agonizing moment- before the light fades, the voices fade, and all that is left is stillness and silence._ _  
_ _  
_ _A runic circle lies scorched into the stonework of the floor. The sorceress kneels within it, clutching her stomach, coughing and retching black smoke. The unearthly gray tinge to her skin drips like tar from her fingers. Wearily, she lifts her eyes, blinking in the fading light._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Genny?” Sonya wonders._ _  
_ _  
_ _She falls, and Saber is there to catch her, pulling off his cape and wrapping it around her shoulders. Genny just stands, clutching her staff in both hands, frozen in place with wonder and fear._ _  
_ _  
_ _“...Mother Mila…” Genny breathes, stunned._ _  
_ _  
_ _Saber cradles Sonya’s unconscious form. He meets Genny’s eyes, and shakes his head._ _  
_ _  
_ _“...No, kid,” he says. “That was all you.”_  
  
~*~  
  
Every introvert has their sanctuary. Genny found hers on a balcony overlooking the castle grounds, granting her a reprieve from the noise and the constant attention. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling the wind rustle her fluffy, rosy hair. She reached up and touched the shining metal rose hanging around her neck. She sighed.  
  
“What are you hiding out here for?”  
  
Genny looked up, and smiled, as Sonya joined her at the balcony rail.  
  
“It’s been an exciting day,” Genny admitted. “Maybe a little too exciting.”  
  
Sonya smiled and laid a hand in Genny’s hair.  
  
“...You know…” Sonya exhaled. “I think a lot of girls out there are afraid of becoming their mothers. But, flipping it around… I don’t think I’d mind turning into you. I mean, look at you. Hero of the hour.”  
  
“I didn’t do it for the fame,” Genny protested. “I did it for you.”  
  
“I know,” Sonya said. “And even if I live to be a hundred years old… I don’t know if I’ll be able to thank you enough.”  
  
A tender moment passed between them, standing at the rail, gazing out across the fireflies in the courtyard below.  
  
“We are both, in our way, little sisters,” Sonya said softly. “You’re a lucky girl, having people to dote on you. People who care about you. I hope… I hope your siblings turn out better than mine.”  
  
“...I’m sorry,” Genny murmured. Sonya took her shoulder and squeezed.  
  
“Don’t. You’ve already done more than I can ask of you. It’s in the past- and we have to attend to the present. This party, for example.”  
  
“And how are you enjoying the party, Mother?”  
  
“I’m _not_ that-” Sonya sighed. “...I’ll have you know, I’m actually having a ball. There’s this one woman in particular who I’ve spent an absolutely _charming_ evening with.”  
  
Sonya caught someone’s gaze in the courtyard below, and gave a coquettish wave. Genny blinked, peeking over the balcony rail.  
  
“Oh! That’s Knight-Commander Mathilda,” Genny said. “Celica told me all about her. Have you met her husband?”  
  
Sonya made a face. “Her _what_ now?”  
  
“Her husband, Clive? He’s the blonde one, down there.”  
  
“Ugh!” Sonya threw her hands up, mortified. “Flirting with a married woman while her husband’s not ten feet away?! ...Gods, I _have_ become my mother!”  
  
Sonya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She glanced up at Genny.  
  
“...Alright, let’s not make this about me. This is your night, Genny. You should enjoy it while you can. You have work to do.”  
  
Now it was Genny’s turn to groan and cradle her head in her arms.  
  
“Don’t remind me…” Genny muttered. “What was I thinking?! Declaring a crusade across Valentia, to purge the world of terrors? Don’t get me wrong- I’ve fought my fair share of monsters. But how could I possibly do this alone?”  
  
“You won’t.”  
  
Genny snapped up straight and whirled around, bowing her head in deference.  
  
“Celica! I-I mean, your majesty-”  
  
“Don’t you start,” Celica said, tipping Genny’s chin up out of her bow. “I’ll always be Celica to you. And, Beloved of Mila or not, you’ll always be our little Genny.”  
  
Genny preened, her heart aching with affection. “Oh, Celica…”  
  
“I came to congratulate you,” Celica said gently, her serene smile turning playful, “and to ask you if you wanted help on your newest adventure.”  
  
“Oh, Celica, you know me…” Genny laughed. “I would follow you anywhere. But sometimes, I wish I was back at my room in Novis, writing that story I told you about. You remember, the one about the red-headed heroine who set out to save the world…?”  
  
“You’re writing that story right now, aren’t you?” Celica winked. “You have a mission now, one worthy of the greatest tales. I’ve come to you, now, to pledge my sword to your cause. And I didn’t come alone.”  
  
Genny’s eyes grew wide, watching as a crowd began to form on her little secluded balcony- gasping when Celica fell to one knee, bowing her head against the hilt of Beloved Zofia, braced against the ground.  
  
“You- You can’t!” Genny squeaked. “Don’t you have… you know… _queen_ things to do…?”  
  
“That’s why she keeps _me_ around,” Alm said, smiling. “Your mission is a worthy goal, Saint Genny- a lot worthier than mere paperwork. I am honored to have Queen Anthiese join you as a representative of our kingdom- and I’m sure she’s honored to join you as a friend.”  
  
Genny worked her jaw, speechless. Another sword planted itself in the ground beside Beloved Zofia, and another volunteer fell to one knee.  
  
“Y-You too…?” Genny wondered.  
  
Saber gave her a languid smile. “I’m the Queensguard, kiddo. Wherever she goes, I follow. So it looks like you’re gonna be stuck with me awhile longer.”  
  
With a bright keening, the Ladyblade stuck fast in the ground beside Beloved Zofia, joined a moment later by a lacquered wooden staff.  
  
“I hope you didn’t think you’d be going _without us_ this time,” Mae grinned.  
  
Genny stammered. “But… but the priory-”  
  
“-will be safe in our absence,” Boey chimed in. “I thought-”  
  
Boey grunted as Mae’s elbow jabbed into his gut.  
  
“ _We_ thought Junior Lucien could handle things without us,” Boey finished, flashing Mae a look.  
  
Genny sniffled, wiping her eyes. “...I don’t… I don’t know what to say…”  
  
“My Lady Exalt!”  
  
Genny blinked, and looked up. A girl pushed her way through the crowd, her hair done up in paired braids. Genny didn’t recognize her, but she was garbed as a Priestess of Mila and wore plenty of pink, so Genny already liked her.  
  
“My Lady Exalt,” the girl said, breathless, falling to her knees before her, “please, allow me to join you in your holy mission…”  
  
A hand rested on her shoulder and she jumped, before seeing who it was.  
  
“Get up,” Celica said warmly, nodding to the girl. She looked up at Genny. “Genny, this is Faye, from Ram Village. She’s an old friend.”  
  
Mae blinked. “... _Is_ she now…?” she muttered. Boey dug an elbow into her ribs.  
  
“Thank you, Celica,” Faye murmured, lifting her head and meeting Genny’s eyes. “...There is another reason I wish to join you. You say your mission is to save the witches, yes? There have been rumors of… something, haunting the woods surrounding the castle. If it is a witch… and if it is who I think it is... well, I would be honored to help you in your search… if… if you would have me.”  
  
“Of- Of course!” Genny said. She ushered the girl to her feet and clasped her hand.  
  
“Seems like you’ve put together quite the merry band,” Sonya murmured behind her.  
  
“Yeah…” Genny turned, meeting her eyes. “...Mother… would you…?”  
  
Sonya shook her head sadly. “No, little one. At least, not yet- not until Sister Silque here says I’m back to one hundred percent.”  
  
“My heart is with you, Sister,” Silque said, dipping her head. “But you have your mission, and I have mine. Miss Sonya will be safe in my care.”  
  
Silque met Faye’s eyes for just a moment, before taking Genny’s hand in hers.  
  
“Mila provides, Sister,” Silque said.  
  
“Mila provides,” Genny said, wiping away tears.  
  
“Well, look at us!” Saber grinned, getting to his feet and crossing his arms. “The old crew, back at it again!”  
  
“Just like old times,” Celica agreed. She met Genny’s eyes. “Now all we need is a name.”  
  
Genny took a deep breath, and took in the team gathered before her. Her friends. Family, if she was being honest. Pledging their swords to her cause, here when she needed them most… it almost felt… like…  
  
Providence.  
  
Genny traced the gleaming rose around her neck, letting out a sigh.  
  
“The age of dragons is over,” Genny intoned, haloed in the light of the setting sun- crimson, pink, and gold. “The Faithful hold that Mila will provide. Duma will protect. But their time has ended. We must do what they cannot. We must be our own deliverance.”  
  
Genny struck her staff against the ground, ringing like the priory bell across the castle grounds.  
  
“The age of dragons is over, but we fly in their wake,” Genny said. “We shall be The Dragonflight.”  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
> “...so begins the tale of Saint Genny and the Rose Crusade…” the poet said, as the campfire faded to embers. “...but the tale of their first mission, and the second soul to be successfully reclaimed, will have to wait for another night.”
> 
> The scholars whined in protest. The poet only smiled. 
> 
> “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of more time to hear the tale. We still need to reach the port, get a ship, and then there’s the isle itself…”
> 
> “You tell a fine story, sir,” the scholar said, while her partner rose, and stretched. 
> 
> “Thank you,” the poet nodded. “Perhaps, one day, you might tell me a story of your own.”
> 
> “Such as?”
> 
> “Why do you seek the Dragon’s Gate?”
> 
> The scholars exchanged nervous glances. The poet only smiled his mysterious smile. 
> 
> “I see. That, too, must be a tale for another time…”
> 
> ~*~


	2. Old Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And so, Saint Genny founded the Dragonflight, joined by friends old and new…”
> 
> The poet spoke, the fireplace crackling behind him and casting long shadows up the walls. His audience, the pilgrim and the scholar, hung on his every word. Tonight, they were joined by two others- two more souls seeking the Dread Isle, for whatever purpose, the poet couldn’t fathom: the peddler, and the sailor. 
> 
> Pilgrim, peddler, scholar, sailor- despite the bustling crowd and the clanking of tankards, all clung to the poet’s voice as if he were the only one in the room. 
> 
> “Their first mission led them to the woods outside Zofia Castle, to an enemy lurking right on the doorstep,” the poet continued. “The fledgling Rose Crusade was beset by ghosts- without, and within…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate titles: "I'm Sorry for What I Said When I Was Drunk on Dark Magic", or "Found Family's Only Fun Until Someone Catches Feelings", or maybe even "Do Y'All Remember That Part at the End of Kingdom Hearts 2 With Sora, Riku, and Mickey"

~*~  
  
_Dear Diary._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’ve been a Saint for one day, and I already wish I was back home on Novis, writing my epic._ _  
_ _  
_ _Instead, we’re at a lake an hours’ travel from Zofia Castle, and we’re camping, of all things. There are rumors of a Witch haunting these grounds: one that preys on young couples, and only comes out at night._ _  
_ _  
_ _Tonight, we’ll see if Mother’s exorcism was just a one-time thing._ _  
_ _  
_ _I know I shouldn’t complain. The power exists, and the Witches of the world deserve the chance for a new life… or their old life, I suppose._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’m just… afraid. People are looking at this medal of a rose around my neck as if that’s proof that I know what I’m doing. But, really, I’m just making this up as I go._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’m no hero. I’m just me._ _  
_ _  
_ _I wish Mother was here._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
Genny squeaked as a hand settled in her fluffy, rosy hair.  
  
“You okay there, kiddo?” Saber asked, setting down on a log beside her.  
  
Genny smiled thinly, snapping her diary shut and tucking it away. A magicked tome that never ran out of pages, and a magicked ink bottle that never ran dry. They’d been gifts, from Father Nomah, on her thirteenth nameday. Of course, that was back when she’d intended to use them to write her epic, not as a diary, and that was before he…  
  
Genny sighed. “I’m okay,” she murmured. “Just thinking.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? What kind of thinking?”  
  
A thrill of anxiety flickered through Genny’s limbs- echoes of worries from long ago. She waved the thought away.  
  
“It’s in the past. It’s buried.”  
  
Saber shrugged. “If there’s anything I’ve learned making it as a merc in this world, it’s that the past doesn’t stay buried.”  
  
Genny nodded. Her gaze wandered across the campsite, to a flash of Celica’s crimson hair between the trees, to Mae and Boey poring over a scroll of parchment laid out on a severed tree trunk, to the lake glistening pink and gold in the light of the setting sun.  
  
“The past isn’t all bad, though,” Genny mused. “Look at us. Team Novis, together again. I’ve wanted this for so long, but now that it’s here… it’s not like I thought it would be.”  
  
“Don’t let the view fool you, kid,” Saber said. “This ain’t a vacation.”  
  
“I know…”  
  
An eerie breeze passed across the clearing, ruffling Genny’s hair. The looping crests of armor on Saber’s back, warded against dark magic, buzzed and crackled in warning. Genny glanced at the orb atop her staff, the normally clear gem growing murky and clouded. There was something in the air, on the very edge of Genny’s hearing. A voice, maybe. Or a song.  
  
“There’s something wrong here,” Genny murmured, clutching her staff to her chest. “I can feel it.”  
  
~*~  
  
It was amazing, the sort of view one could find a mere hours’ march from Zofia Castle. The beauty of nature, unfouled, undimmed.  
  
Unfortunately, Boey wasn’t here to take in the sights. The only thing he had eyes for were the looping whorls and inscriptions of the spell pattern drawn on the scroll before him, one he’d spent the better part of the evening poring over.  
  
Frankly, it was giving him a headache. Although, it could also have been Mae.  
  
“I don’t know how many times we need to argue this!” Mae threw her hands up. “This spell is attuned for Genny’s use- it worked because _she_ cast it! You can’t just copy it down into a tome and expect anyone to be able to use it!”  
  
“I’m not saying that we wouldn’t make _adjustments_ ,” Boey huffed. “All I’m saying is, it is neither fair nor practical for Genny to be the only one capable of purifying the Witches we encounter. And there’s nothing wrong with tome magic! Across the sea in Archanea, they use tomes just fine!”  
  
“Yeah, and then the tomes _burn out_ after you use it so many times!”  
  
“So we’ll scribe more! We have the time, and the skill, and I think that’s a fair cost to pay for consistent, textbook magic that isn’t cast from your life!”  
  
“It isn’t the same! Casting takes _life_ to pull off right! _You_ know this, _I_ know this, and _Nomah_ knew this because he spent a decade drilling it into our heads!” Mae crossed her arms and huffed in frustration. “...Look, I don’t want to fight you on this. I’m gonna take a walk.”  
  
Boey sighed and shook his head. “It’s not- It’s not a _fight_ , we’re just having a little disagreement. Look, I’m sorry I raised my voice. Mae? Mae!”  
  
Mae stalked off into the treeline, leaving Boey to groan and pinch the bridge of his nose. As the night wore on, and the moon came out, they were both too preoccupied to wonder about the presence shortening their tempers, fraying their nerves...  
  
~*~  
  
Faye sat, alone and aloof, on the lakeshore some distance from the main campsite. The reunion among the kids from Novis was strangely muted at best; but there was still some light there, the warmth and familiarity that came from shared history. But Faye was a stranger in their midst, and she sat apart, the moonlight shining on her pale skin and flaxen hair, making her look like an angel- or a ghost.  
  
An ominous wind swept across the clearing, and Faye shivered, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She could hear the faintest trace of voices on the air- chittering, inhuman whispers.  
  
“There’s something wrong here,” Faye murmured.  
  
A wordless fear tugged at the edge of her senses, set a flutter of anxiety in her fingertips. Faye frowned, reaching for the hilt of the sword hanging from her belt…  
  
“Faye?”  
  
Faye exhaled, relaxing her grip on her sword. She looked up.  
  
“Celica?”  
  
Celica emerged from a stand of trees, a wisp of conjured fire lighting her way. She was objectively beautiful, in her royal finery, white, crimson, and gold- but she was also stiff, awkward, a lopsided, apologetic smile creasing her lips.  
  
“Hey,” she said softly. “Mind if I join you?”  
  
Faye hesitated. She raised and lowered one shoulder. “...If you want.”  
  
Celica tentatively took a seat on the grass beside her. Her wisp hovered over her shoulder. Faye shrank away from its glow.  
  
“It’s, um…” Celica began clumsily. “...It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah,” Faye mused, somber. “Six years since the Dragonfall, and we didn’t have much time to catch up then. Twelve since we were all in Ram together.”  
  
Celica winced at Faye’s pained, bitter tone. “...To be honest, I’ve been hoping to get the chance to talk to you again, after all this time…”  
  
Faye exhaled, and shook her head.  
  
“What’s there to say?”  
  
~*~  
  
Mae paused on the edge of the woods, narrowing her eyes at Celica and the new girl. Then she turned on her heel and marched back the way she came.  
  
When she returned to camp, she saw Saber perched in a tree, keeping watch, while Genny was sitting at the campfire, scribbling in her diary. Genny looked up and called out to her in greeting- but her smile faded when she saw the troubled look on Mae’s face.  
  
Mae threw open the tent flap and fell face-first onto her bedroll, a knot of… something growing in her chest. Boey sat up, startled.  
  
“Mae?” He wondered, his voice soft with concern.  
  
“Just go to sleep,” Mae muttered. “Just go to sleep…”  
  
~*~  
  
The first night in Zofia Woods came and went, and the witch they were hunting did not appear.  
  
The Dragonflight’s second day by the lakeside was spent in an uneasy quiet, waiting for nightfall and the witch to come out of hiding.  
  
The waiting was the hardest part. Some fey mood had overtaken the group, making them quiet, sullen, restless, irritable. Genny knew, in her heart, that this melancholy cloud hanging over them was the witch’s doing- but what could they do, except wait for the witch to show her face?  
  
If not for the prospect of daemon hunting hanging heavy in the air, this camping trip might have been enjoyable. Mae, Boey, and Celica took a break from studying the purification spell to join Saber in the lake for a bit of spearfishing. To their amusement, Saber turned out to be much more skilled with a sword than with a harpoon, and the Novis kids- who’d grown up on beaches- handily out-fished him. For one afternoon, at least, the group’s spirits were lifted.  
  
But the witch’s presence lingered in the air, dimming the mood, and Faye remained aloof. She sat by the lakeside, gazing into the pale disc of the moon reflected on the water, tangled in her own thoughts.  
  
At least, she was, until Genny appeared beside her with a gentle smile and a few skewers of grilled fish.  
  
Faye went stiff, dipping her head in reverence. “My Lady Exalt,” she said.  
  
“That really isn’t necessary,” Genny said. “Please, just call me Sister. That’s what everyone else does.”  
  
Genny offered her a fish, and she took it gratefully. Faye smiled, unbidden.  
  
“What is it?” Genny asked.  
  
“Sorry,” Faye giggled. “It’s just, um… Silque always told me she hated fish.”  
  
Genny laughed. “Yeah, well. When you live on an island, fish is something you learn to love, or grow to hate.”  
  
They ate together in a comfortable quiet, a rare island of peace in the restless night. Something about Genny just seemed to put Faye’s mind at ease. She supposed Sainthood would do that to a person.  
  
“You knew her, didn’t you? Sister Silque?” Faye wondered.  
  
“‘Knew her’?” Genny giggled. “We grew up together! All of us, Silque, Mae, Boey, Celica. We used to joke that we were _all_ ‘Sisters’. Well, except Boey, of course.”  
  
“Oh, I’m jealous,” Faye cooed. “I wish _I_ had so many girls to hang out with. All _my_ friends growing up were guys.”  
  
“Didn’t you know Celica, though? For a little bit?”  
  
A shadow flicked across Faye’s eyes. She exhaled. “...For a little bit. She used to braid flowers in my hair…” Faye shook her head. “But that was a long time ago. And she’s a Queen, now. I… barely even know her anymore.”  
  
Genny shrugged. “Do you want to?”  
  
Faye looked up sharply. “What?”  
  
“Do you want to be friends with Celica again?”  
  
Faye breathed out a sigh, long and low.  
  
“I don’t know _what_ I want,” Faye murmured. “I thought I did, six years ago, when I followed Alm and the rest of our friends to war. I said to myself, I would follow Alm anywhere. But it’s been six years since the Dragonfall, and he’s a King, and Celica’s his Queen, and I’m just the Priestess for a village barely worth putting on a map.”  
  
Genny hummed in sympathy. She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest.  
  
“You know… six years ago, Mae, Boey and I, three junior clerics who’d never left the island before, followed Celica out into the world. We knew it would be dangerous. I was afraid to go. But I was more afraid of being left behind.”  
  
Faye frowned, and gave a knowing nod.  
  
“...But look at you now. You’re a Saint.”  
  
“I’m still me,” Genny insisted. “And Celica’s still Celica. She might be a Queen now, but she’ll always be a Sister.”  
  
The stubbornness in Genny’s tone managed to coax a smile out of Faye.  
  
“You keep saying that,” Faye said. “You all must be really close.”  
  
“We’re family,” Genny said. Her smile turned playful. “Or, I thought we were. Then Mae, Boey, and Celica all got older and had to make things _weird_ .”  
  
Memories of Gray, Tobin, Clair, and an exasperated Kliff flashed across Faye’s eyes. She barked out a laugh.  
  
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”  
  
“Mae told me there was a word for it,” Genny rolled her eyes. “‘Catching feelings’, she called it. I always hated that phrasing. It makes love sound like some kind of disease.”  
  
“Isn’t it, though?” Faye giggled. “Your face flushes… your heart races… you get feverish, and you can’t think straight, there’s an ache in your chest and a knot in your throat...”  
  
“I don’t know anything about that!” Genny laughed. “All I know is, love isn’t supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to heal.”  
  
~*~  
  
Back by the campfire, Mae was hunched over, squinting suspiciously at Faye across the way. She grumbled, scowling.  
  
Boey sighed loudly and over-dramatically beside her. She glanced at him, making a face.  
  
“Look, Boey, if you want to say something, just _say_ it.”  
  
“Alright, then,” Boey shrugged, crossing his arms. “I don’t think green is your color.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Look at you!” Boey said. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve been acting strange ever since we arrived here, and you’ve been glaring daggers at that new girl all day.”  
  
Mae huffed. “Okay, okay. _Maybe_ I’m just overthinking things-”  
  
“You’re _absolutely_ overthinking things.”  
  
“-but just think about it!” Mae insisted. “A beautiful girl from Celica’s past mysteriously reappears in her life, and sends us on a trip to a gorgeous lake with a gorgeous view? Hunting a witch that supposedly only comes out at night, so we have to camp out and wait for it… a witch who’s drawn to _young lovers_ ? Like, excuse me?”  
  
Boey pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Mae_ …”  
  
“What if she’s… I dunno… what if she’s trying to steal Celica away?”  
  
“And what if she is?” Boey snapped. “Celica doesn’t belong to you, or me, or Novis anymore. She doesn’t even belong to the King, for Mila’s sake- everyone save the most bullheaded nobles knows their marriage is purely political.”  
  
“Well, doesn’t it _bother_ you?”  
  
“Why should it? I’ve made no claim to Celica’s heart, and _neither have you!_ ”  
  
Mae faltered. “...I… but I… yes, I have!”  
  
“ _Have you?_ ” Boey demanded. “Have you told her? Have you talked to her about this? Like, really talked?”  
  
“Boey, she’s the Queen! There’s, I don’t know, protocol!”  
  
“She already breaks protocol by visiting us on Novis for weeks at a time!” Boey countered. “Royalty has a lot of sway, and King Alm is nothing if not compassionate. I’ve no doubt that the three of you could come to an understanding, if you could only decide exactly what Celica is to you!”  
  
“Well, what about you?” Mae fired back. “What am I to you, then?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my friend-”  
  
“Really! Because you’ve certainly had no problem with us being practically joined at the hip, or holding hands, or sharing a tent…”  
  
Boey rolled his eyes. “We’ve spent our whole lives together, Mae! I don’t see the point in putting a name to our relationship-”  
  
“Of course you don’t, because you don’t think it’ll ever change!” Mae seethed. “You’re comfortable just taking me for granted!”  
  
Boey stared at her. “Mae… that’s- that’s not-”  
  
“Celica’s only here now because of Genny’s mission,” Mae hissed, stabbing a finger into Boey’s chest. “I don’t have to be more than a friend to you because you know you’d still have me when this is done! You don’t have anything to lose! Celica will go back to being stuck in her castle in a loveless marriage, and I’ll go back to the island and be stuck with _you!_ ”  
  
Mae clapped her hands over her mouth. Boey looked stricken for just a second- and then the wall came up. He averted his eyes, silent, inscrutable. He took a shuddering breath.  
  
“I’m not going to fight you over this,” Boey said softly. “I won’t ask you to settle for me.”  
  
“Boey, wait… I… I didn’t mean that. I don’t know where that came from,” Mae winced, her voice breaking. “Boey, this isn’t a fight, this is just… Boey, come on… Boey…!”  
  
~*~  
  
Another night came and went, and the Dragonflight was no closer to its goal.  
  
By the third day, the weight of anxiety pressing down on the group was becoming almost unbearable. There was no denying that dark magic was afoot- but their target kept to the shadows, haunting them with whispers in the dark, fraying their nerves, smothering their resolve.  
  
At sunset on the third day, Genny was fretting over the pages of her diary, while Saber sat, the wards on his armor crackling incessantly, scraping a whetstone down the length of his blade.  
  
“It isn’t how you thought it would be, is it?” Saber asked.  
  
Genny sighed glumly, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “...No. I was excited, you know, to have the old Novis crew back together. I thought we were close enough that we’d be able to just pick back up where we started. No doubts, no worries. Like riding a horse- you never forget.”  
  
“It ain’t always that simple, kiddo,” Saber said. “Things change. People change. Sometimes, they leave for a reason.”  
  
Genny shook her head. “I won’t accept that. Celica, Mae, Boey… we’re family.”  
  
“What, you don’t think every family has their fights?”  
  
“Not like this, though,” Genny murmured. “Not like this.”  
  
Saber frowned, and nodded. His armor crackled with static.  
  
“No. Not like this,” he agreed. “There’s something wrong here. Something getting into our heads, dragging out some old stuff. Ugly stuff. But the problem is, this stuff isn’t new.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Saber heaved a sigh. “...Look, kiddo, I’m just here to hit things. We’re messing with stuff a mere bodyguard like me can’t even fathom. But I’ve been thinking- about Terrors, about Witches. About the darkness hollowing people out until they’re nothing but hurt and hatred. And I’ve been thinking…maybe the darkness brings out the worst in us. But the worst in us is already there.”  
  
Genny shook her head. She reached up, trailing her fingers through her fluffy, rosy hair.  
  
“...How am I supposed to do this…?” Genny murmured. “How am I supposed to keep everyone together when our enemy can pick us apart from the inside? I’m just me. I’m not a leader. I’m not Celica, or Alm…”  
  
Genny curled up, hugging her diary to her chest like it was a shield. She huffed.  
  
“...Y’know, if I were writing my epic right now, I don’t think I’d make my hero this… gloomy.”  
  
Saber chuckled. He reached over, ruffling Genny’s hair.  
  
“Listen to me, kiddo. There’s one thing you’ve got that nobody else does, and that’s right here.”  
  
Saber pointed. Genny’s eyes lit up.  
  
“My book?”  
  
“Your _heart_ , you cheeky brat,” Saber grinned. “And you’re right, you’re not like Celica or Alm, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a leader. You just gotta find your own style.”  
  
Genny lips curled into an eager smile. She sprang to her feet, brushing grass from her dress.  
  
“You’re right,” Genny said, beaming. “I know just what to do.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Are you sure about this, Genny?” Celica wondered. “This… kind of feels like a set up.”  
  
“Come on, Celica,” Genny chirped. “Would I ever be so devious?”  
  
“If it would make a good story? Sure.”  
  
Genny stuck her tongue out. Celica giggled, but her smile faded when she saw what was waiting on the lakeshore. Celica murmured, wringing her hands. Genny touched her arm as if in benediction, and Celica’s nerves stilled.  
  
“Go on,” Genny urged. Celica nodded. She made her way through the trees.  
  
“Hello, Faye,” Celica said warily.  
  
Faye blinked, startled from her melancholy- one that seemed, by now, to be a nightly routine.  
  
“Oh, Celica,” she said. “The Saint said you wanted to speak with me.”  
  
“ _Did_ she, now?” Celica wondered, rueful. She shot a glare over her shoulder, but Genny was already gone- leaving nothing but a heavy silence and the gulf of years.  
  
The quiet was unbearable. But Faye and Celica stood there, fighting for the words, neither of them quite able to look each other in the eyes, but neither of them willing to walk away.  
  
“...I’m sorry,” Celica said, at last, which was never a good way to start a conversation.  
  
Faye shrugged. “For what?”  
  
Celica swallowed hard. She sighed. “...This is about Alm, isn’t it…?”  
  
“This isn’t about Alm!” Faye snapped, fire in her eyes. “This is about _you_ . Twelve years, Celica. That’s half of my life. Twelve years, and you didn’t write a single letter. Even though you were only in Ram for a few weeks, I never forgot about you. But you forgot me.”  
  
Celica winced. “That’s… That’s not true.”  
  
“Isn’t it?” Faye shot back. “In the years after the war, did you ever come back to Ram? I wasn’t even invited to Genny’s ceremony! The only reason I was there was because Clair invited Gray, and he let me come with him. When I showed up at that banquet, did you even remember who I _was_ ?”  
  
Celica wrung her hands, staring at the ground.  
  
“...What do you want from me, Faye?”  
  
“What do I _want_ ?” Faye seethed. “What do _you_ want, Celica?”  
  
“I want there to be peace between us,” Celica said softly. “I want us to be friends. Can’t we be friends…?”  
  
Faye took a shuddering breath. “...No, Celica. We can’t. Because when this mission is over, you’ll go back to your castle. You’ll be a Queen again, and I’ll just be me.”  
  
Faye clenched her fists, trembling. Celica watched her, her heart aching in her chest.  
  
“Faye… I don’t know what to say-”  
  
“Then just shut up for a minute, would you?” Faye snapped. “Look at you, Celica. You have it all. What do I have? A rural parish, and a turnip field. Six years ago, I followed Alm to war so I could be more than just a farm girl. I took up the sword- I fought monsters- so I could _be_ something.”  
  
Faye blew out a sigh, and trailed her fingers through her hair. Her braids were coming undone.  
  
“...We hadn’t heard from you for six years. Then we found Silque, and she told us all about you- about life at the priory, about how you were pious, and kind…”  
  
Faye stopped pacing, and turned on her heel. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders- and Celica realized, with a start, that it was the same traveling cloak Faye had worn, years ago, and the same pink dress, altered and tailored into the cloak and tabard of a Priestess of Mila.  
  
“I learned magic, for you,” Faye said softly. “I took up the sword, for you. I tried to be like you- kind, and pious, and selfless. Now, look at me. It’s been six years since the war. Twelve, since we first met. And now the gods are dead, and my clothes don’t fit, and I still don’t know if I did all this because I wanted to _be_ you or… be _with_ you.”  
  
Faye felt Celica’s hand on her arm, and didn’t have the energy to pull away. She ducked her head, unable to look at those eyes, brimming with a compassion, a selflessness, that Faye could never have.  
  
“I’m here,” Celica said softly. “I’m here now. Be with me now.”  
  
Faye sniffled. She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her cloak.  
  
“...Even now, you’re just so… nice…” Faye shuddered. “I’m not like you, Celica. I’m… angry, and selfish, and confused, and it… it hurts, Celica. It hurts, and I don’t know what to call it, but I just want it to stop hurting. I don’t want to be you, but I want to be _someone_ . I want to be… enough.”  
  
She saw the question in Celica’s eyes. Faye nodded, limp, and let Celica pull her into a gentle embrace, sinking, exhausted, into Celica’s arms.  
  
“What am I, Celica?” Faye murmured into her throat.  
  
“You’re a hero, Faye,” Celica cooed. “You’re a Priestess of Mila who’s earned her place among heroes and saints. But before you were any of that, you were a country girl. You showed me how to tend a turnip patch, braided flowers in my hair, and taught me how to sew.”  
  
Celica smiled, and gently smoothed Faye’s hair against her scalp.  
  
“Twelve years ago, Faye, you were my friend. And that was enough.”  
  
Faye choked out a sob. Celica held her as she shivered and wept into Celica’s throat, haloed in the light of the pale moon, high above.  
  
~*~  
  
Mae couldn’t watch. She blew out a sigh and stepped back into the trees, her mind a tangle of steel wool scraping out the inside of her skull.  
  
“Beautiful night for a moonlit tryst.”  
  
Mae jumped. Boey was waiting for her, his arms crossed.  
  
“Why are you here?” Mae hissed, shooting a glance at Faye and Celica on the lakeshore.  
  
“Because I know you,” Boey sighed. “...Also, because Genny told me you’d be here.”  
  
“That little pink traitor,” Mae grumbled.  
  
A pause.  
  
“I’m sorry,” they both blurted out.  
  
“I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I was taking you for granted-  
  
“I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you were just a backup plan-”  
  
“Mae, I’m sorry, I know I’m not entitled to your affection-”  
  
“I care about you, I do, it’s just complicated with Celica and these past few days have been crazy-”  
  
They both stopped and took a deep breath.  
  
“I’m sorry,” they said, together.  
  
“I think we’ve assumed that some things go without saying, when really, the three of us should have talked about it,” Boey said. He pointedly glanced through the treeline at Faye and Celica. “Perhaps even the four of us. Maybe we can talk… once we’re done spying, at least.”  
  
Mae groaned, clutching her temples.  
  
“I know,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I know this isn’t me! But ever since we’ve gotten here, I can feel… something… scratching around in my head… making me angry… paranoid… restless…”  
  
Mae felt Boey’s hand on her shoulder. She looked up, a frazzled look in her eyes.  
  
“You can feel it, can’t you…?” Mae whispered. “There’s something _wrong_ here.”  
  
“...No, Mae,” Boey said, with a dreadful certainty. “There’s something _here_ .”  
  
There was a sharp bang, like thunder overhead. Mae and Boey cried out as a fierce wind suddenly ripped through the trees, nearly bowling them over with the strength of the gale. On the lakeshore, Faye cried out in alarm as she lost her footing, Celica catching her and propping her up. Celica lifted her head, gazing into the dark, her hand wandering to the hilt of Beloved Zofia at her hip.  
  
Another thunderclap. Another gale blasting down across the lake, kicking mist into the air. There was a fell voice in the wind, a dreadful wailing. A woman’s voice, laughing mad… or sobbing her heart out.  
  
Saber dropped down from his treetop perch, grimacing at the unearthly wailing. Another fierce wind swept across the lake. He braced himself against the gale and drew the sword sheathed across his back, the warded crest of his armor shivering with static electricity.  
  
Genny stood, unbent, before the gale sweeping across the lake and the inhuman shrieking that sang within. She strode forward, her pink robe billowing in the wind, her pearl staff shining in her hands. Mae and Boey emerged from the woods, joining Faye and Celica at Genny’s side.  
  
Genny struck her staff against the ground. The ceaseless gale parted around them and formed a circle around the lakeshore, a funnel cloud penning them in.  
  
There, Genny stood, in the eye of the storm.  
  
“Restless spirit,” Genny beseeched the gale. “You’ve haunted these woods- and my friends- for long enough. Show yourself! Come into the light, that you may know peace.”  
  
A voice, bitter, but brittle, echoed across the water.  
  
_No heart that has known love can ever know peace._  
  
A frigid breeze passed through the group, settling like icy fingers upon their necks. Faye shivered. Mae grit her teeth.  
  
_Love is a poison,_ the voice whispered. _A wildfire that burns until you have nothing… until you_ **_are_ ** _nothing._ _  
_ _  
_ “Sh-Shut up!” Faye snapped.  
  
_See how insidiously it creeps inside… and how quickly you succumb. It frays your mind… hollows out your soul… all the more quickly, for one whose heart is already torn in two…_ _  
_ _  
_ “Get out of my head!” Mae seethed.  
  
A shadow rose from the lightless depths of the lake. It came to rest upon an island of frost that bloomed beneath its feet, a tattered, waterlogged dress clinging to its gray, frostbitten skin. Pale blue ghost fire burned in its eyes.  
  
_“To love is to suffer,”_ the Despair intoned, meeting Genny’s eyes. _“You are young. You will learn…”_ _  
_ _  
_ Genny stood tall, light gathering at her fingertips. She turned, and met the eyes of friends old and new, before defiantly meeting the Despair’s empty gaze.  
  
“Maybe I don’t know a whole lot about love,” Genny said, “but I know what love _isn’t_ . Love isn’t cruel. Love isn’t jealous, or obsessed, or complacent, or ungrateful. Love isn’t putting someone on a pedestal so high that you forget who you are. Whoever you are… whoever you _were_ … you’ve known hurt, and you’ve called it love.”  
  
Genny looked up, her eyes shining with conviction.  
  
“But love doesn’t hurt! Love heals! And I swear before the fallen gods, we _will_ heal you!”  
  
_“You will drown in the lightless depths!”_ _  
_ _  
_ The Despair shrieked, and hurled a spear of magicked ice. Genny swatted it aside with a flick of her staff, the icicle smashing against a conjured shield of pink light.  
  
Genny plunged into the water with a shriek. She emerged an instant later, flailing, a slimy hand around her ankle, a ghoulish face gazing up at her with ghost lights in its eyes.  
  
Genny leveled her staff at the revenant’s nose, and obliterated its skull in a flash of golden light. A second revenant rose out of the water and swung a clawed hand at Genny’s face. It lost its arm at the elbow with one clean sword stroke, and lost its head an instant later.  
  
Saber got an arm around Genny’s waist and hoisted her to her feet. The Despair was wailing again, that dreadful keening that was somewhere between laughing and crying, and the drowned dead were answering her call- slimy, emaciated ghouls, trudging their way up from the lakebed two by two.  
  
“Ugh,” Saber groaned, pulling Genny behind him as the ranks of revenants closed in. “What were we saying about this witch preying on young couples…?”  
  
Genny shook her head sadly. “...It’s not a vacation…”  
  
The Despair shrieked, and a tremor swept through the ranks of ghouls. They shuddered and convulsed, before going berserk, bursting from the water in a dead sprint.  
  
“Aw, shit-!” Saber hissed. He grabbed Genny’s wrist, and they took off.  
  
“A little help!” Genny called, frantic, pursued by a mob of swiping claws and snapping teeth.  
  
“Genny! Saber! Drop!”  
  
Saber dove into a roll, shielding Genny with his body. Static crackled across his armor as he felt the wave of magic pass above them- and heard the storm of conjured arrows tear the swarm of ghouls to shreds. Saber looked up and nodded his thanks.  
  
Boey had a split-second of satisfaction before a charging ghoul hurled him off his feet. He tumbled through the grass, teeth snapping at his face.  
  
There was a flash of pale, blue-white light, and the revenant fell apart, neatly severed from the right shoulder to the left hip. Boey took the offered hand, and Faye lifted him to his feet, her sword glowing faintly with its blessing. They exchanged polite nods.  
  
Faye leapt back into the fray, her sword flashing like lightning in her hands. Just a short distance away, and rather less figuratively, Mae also held lightning in her grasp- a web of azure lightning that stopped a dozen ghouls in their tracks as they were rising out of the water. They shrieked and glowered at her with their shining eyes, fighting for every step even as lightning seized their bodies kept them still.  
  
An instant later, Celica opened her arms wide, her brand shining like a star on her palm.  
  
A burning pillar descended from the heavens and obliterated the ghouls trapped in Mae’s grasp. The enormous beam scoured the lakeshore and drove into the lake itself, burning ghouls to ashes and blasting a thick curtain of steam into the air.  
  
Saber clutched his blade, watching the mist. A shadow lurked and leapt through the smoke- he cleaved it in two and let its corpse smash headfirst into the smouldering soil.  
  
“Genny!” he called out.  
  
Celica’s, perhaps, overzealous fire spell burned a smoking furrow right down the center of the lake. Genny strode down the corridor of baked, blackened mud, the golden light atop her staff blazing like a torch. Drowned dead curled their misshapen legs beneath them and pounced- only to be blasted apart in mid-air by streams of golden light and shimmering pink flower petals.  
  
Genny searched, but all she could see was smoke.  
  
Genny grit her teeth, mustering her courage. “Come out!” she cried. “Come out and face me!”  
  
She felt an unearthly chill, and saw the shadow across her feet.  
  
Genny whirled around, her staff blazing. The Despair caught her by the wrists and yanked Genny forward. A bitter cold seeped through the Despair’s hands and surged into Genny’s skin. Genny cried out, frost blooming across her arms.  
  
_“Dance with me,”_ the Despair whispered, _“and know the folly of a kind heart…”_  
  
Genny grit her teeth, and met the woman’s eyes.  
  
“This heart will set you free.”  
  
Genny twisted her arms in the witch’s grip and took the other woman’s wrists, pale gold shimmering through her fingertips even as black frost crept up her arms. Power exploded across the lake, dispelling the wind wall around the woods, and sweeping away the pall of smoke. Genny and the Despair clung to each other in a deadly embrace, light and darkness suffusing their forms. Warmth and color slowly tinted the Despair’s cold, gray skin, even as it left Genny pale and gasping…  
  
“Genny, stop!” Boey cried out. “It’ll kill you!”  
  
“...no…” Genny choked out, blood trickling down her nose.  
  
An orb of light exploded between them. Celica watched, pale white still wisping from her fingers, as her spell ripped Genny from the witch’s grasp and sent her hurtling back to earth.  
  
Genny fell into Saber’s waiting arms. The Despair loomed above them, stunned. It fixed them with its unearthly gaze, opened its claws and shrieked-  
  
“Freeze!” Faye cried out, and the Despair stopped in its tracks, its mouth open mid-scream.  
  
Saber gently laid Genny on the ground, grimacing in horror at the black frost creeping up her forearms. Mae ran up and practically threw him aside, joining Boey in pressing palmfuls of healing power to her chest. Genny coughed, weakly reaching up and wiping the blood from her nose.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Saber asked.  
  
“Magic drain,” Boey said, shaking his head. “She was hurt when she tried to cast the spell, and it’s a spell that takes a lot out of her, even on the best days…”  
  
“Then we have to pull out,” Saber insisted. “We can’t stay here.”  
  
“No,” Genny murmured weakly. “We’re not losing her.”  
  
“Guys!” Faye called, straining. The stasis field surrounding the Despair flickered ominously. “I don’t know… how long I can hold this…!”  
  
“Boey, Mae,” Celica urged. “You two spent a year helping Genny write the purification spell. You know it better than anyone- can you cast it for her?”  
  
Boey shook his head, anxious. “...I can prepare the spell, but it wasn’t written with me in mind-”  
  
“I can do it,” Mae said.  
  
All eyes were on her. Mae met them in turn- Saber, Faye, Boey, Celica… Genny.  
  
She took a deep breath, and strode towards the witch.  
  
_“Wandering soul, heed my call,”_ Mae recited, like a prayer. She drew the Ladyblade, glinting in her hands. _“Hear my voice, and come back to the light.”_  
  
Boey struck his staff against the ground. A magic circle rose beneath Mae’s feet, golden light coiling up her legs and spiraling around her form. She brandished the Ladyblade towards the trapped Despair, golden light gathering at its tip.  
  
_“Unquiet mind,”_ Mae said, her voice trembling. _“Heed my call-”_  
  
The magic circle shuddered and Mae cried out, falling to one knee.  
  
“Mae!” Celica cried.  
  
“What’s going on?!” Saber demanded.  
  
Boey threw open the scroll and studied the spell pattern, frantic. “It’s… the spell is attuned to Genny’s magical signature. It was the only way we could make it work- otherwise, the spell causes too much strain. Genny’s the only one who can cast it alone…!”  
  
Mae gasped, blood streaming down her nose.  
  
“I can do it…” Mae swallowed hard. “... _Unquiet mind-_ ”  
  
_“Unquiet mind, heed my call,”_ Celica said. She took one last glance at the invocation on Boey’s scroll, before marching forward, standing at Mae’s shoulder. _“Hear my voice, and come back to the light…”_ _  
_ _  
_ Celica drew Beloved Zofia and laid it alongside Mae’s Ladyblade, both blades thrumming with power and shining with golden light.  
  
_“Restless heart, heed my call,”_ they said together. _“Reach out your hand-”_  
  
The Despair shrieked and burst from its magical prison- only to be trapped, once more, in concentric rings of golden light. The very air began to tremble with power. Another tremor shot through the magic circle and Celica gagged in pain, falling to one knee. Celica and Mae shared a glance- saw the strain in each other’s eyes…  
  
Then a third sword joined the fray, shining with golden light.  
  
_“Restless heart, heed my call,”_ Faye intoned, her hand over her heart. _“Reach out your hand… and break the chain.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Faye took Mae’s hand and pulled her to her feet, Celica rising beside them. They lifted their gaze to the witch, bound in golden light, ribbons of pink and gold wreathing their trinity of swords.  
  
Behind them, Genny sat up, and smiled, as if she'd planned this all along.  
  
“Mila provides,” Genny beamed.  
  
Celica, Mae, and Faye stood unbowed in the radiant light. Together, they cried:  
  
**_“Release!”_ **  
  
A beam of golden light burst from their swords and struck the witch right through her heart. Shadows gushed like blood and smoke from the ghastly wound. The Despair shrieked- a horrid, unearthly, banshee wailing that became human sobs when she hit the ground. She lay there, in the smouldering, ruined lakebed, and she wept.  
  
The light faded, and Mae stumbled back into Celica’s arms, clutching her head.  
  
“...Mother Mila…” Mae murmured, woozy.  
  
“No,” Faye said. “That was you.”  
  
“That was us,” Mae said. She met Faye’s eyes, and they nodded.  
  
Genny rose to her feet, still brushing powdered ice from her hands. The purified witch lay in a sobbing heap at the end of the furrow cut into the lake. She gathered the party together with a wordless, proud smile, before ushering them forward.  
  
The girl didn’t seem to notice them at first- until she caught a glimpse of Saber and recoiled, mewling like a child. Boey caught Saber’s wrist and held him back. When Saber shot him a questioning look, Boey just shook his head.  
  
He’d seen women flinch like that at the sight of men, seeking shelter at the priory. It wasn’t a thing he’d ever gotten used to.  
  
Genny, Celica, Mae, and Faye tentatively approached the woman, Genny kneeling a short distance away.  
  
“Miss?” Genny asked warily. “Can you hear me…?”  
  
Celica and Mae watched, somber. They glanced up at Faye, the three of them lingering a little ways away, giving Genny and the once-witch some space.  
  
“Was she the one you were looking for?” Celica asked. “Did you know her?”  
  
Faye took in the woman’s bedraggled hair, pale in the moonlight, and the shredded remnants of her dress- tattered, waterlogged, but still unmistakable.  
  
“‘A wildfire that burns until you have nothing…’” Faye recited, shaking her head. “...No. No, I guess I didn’t.”  
  
Genny sat beside the girl, offering her presence without getting too close. Through her tears and hiccups, she kept repeating two words.  
  
“...He’s gone…” came her frantic mantra. “...he’s gone…”  
  
Faye swallowed hard.  
  
“He _is_ gone,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s been six years.”  
  
The girl looked up, ceasing her crying. There was something in her shadowed eyes- a glint of recognition.  
  
“...You… you were with him. The prince… the tower...” she asked.  
  
She gazed up at the assembled Dragonflight, glowing in the moonlight like an angel- or a ghost. She smiled- a broad, euphoric, manic smile, as the realization dawned on her.  
  
“...He’s _gone_ …” Rinea gasped, tears in her eyes. “Thank you… _thank you_ …!”  
  
Rinea dove into Faye’s arms. Faye held her as she wept, while Genny sat apart, smiling sadly and clutching the rose medallion around her neck, watching as traces of shadow slithered away through the trees.  
  
~*~


	3. With These Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old faces, new faces, black, red, and blue...
> 
> The Dragonflight has saved a second mind from darkness, transforming Genny's miracle into a movement. But the newly founded Dragonflight still has yet to truly stretch its wings, and every childhood comes with growing pains. Before Genny can start moving the hearts of the masses, she'll have to tend to the ones in her care. 
> 
> The past doesn't stay in the past. And the future is anything but certain...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kept you waiting, huh? It's been three long months-- but the Dragonflight rides again. I hope you all enjoy the read. ^^

_~*~_ _  
_ _  
_ _Dear Diary,_  
  
_So, I cast the purification spell for the second time._ _  
_ _  
_ _We all did, actually. I kind of messed things up the first time around. But then Mae stepped up, and so did Celica, and Faye, and they managed to cast it together._ _  
_ _  
_ _The girl’s name is Rinea. Faye seemed to know her; Silque, too. She passed out soon after being purified, and now her recovery is in Silque’s hands. She has nightmares. She mumbles in her sleep, ‘he’s here, he’s here’. There’s a story there, I’m sure. I’m not sure I want to hear it._ _  
_ _  
_ _We’ve been back in the castle for a week, now. Somehow, word’s already gotten out. “She’s done it again!” they say. “Mila provides!” Celica jokes that it won’t be long until there are pilgrims at my door. I really hope it doesn’t come to that- I think I’d die of embarrassment._ _  
_ _  
_ _Letters are arriving, scout reports about witch enclaves and Terror nests, personal letters asking me to seek out missing women- daughters, sisters, wives._ _  
_ _  
_ _It’s too much. All I want is some peace and quiet, and a chance to write my epic._ _  
_ _  
_ _Fortunately, or unfortunately, there’s never a dull moment when my friends are around..._ _  
_ _  
_ _~*~_ _  
_ _  
_ Life as a Saint was swiftly becoming a lot more exciting than Genny was prepared for.  
  
The Dragonflight returned from its impromptu camping trip with an unconscious, newly-purified witch in tow. They were met by a hero’s welcome, days of feasting and celebration. The Zofian capital filled with cheers and faithful waving little pink ribbons, carrying roses.  
  
It all seemed a little… excessive, honestly. But Genny could almost understand why. Purifying Mother a year after she’d taken up residence in Nuibaba’s lair, that was a miracle. But purifying a second witch in a manner of weeks? Now, it was a movement.  
  
Genny was a priory kid at heart. She didn’t need plush carpets or silk sheets, and the room Celica had set aside for her in Zofia Castle reflected that-- humble, undressed stone, simple and shining in the sunlight. But there was a growing pile of missives accumulating on her desk. There were reports of witch sightings and Terror nests, courtesy of Zofian military intelligence-- scouts led by Lady Clair from above and by Tobin and Gray on the ground. Even more worrying were the reports from civilian sources: personal missives beseeching Genny to seek out missing women throughout the land, daughters, sisters, wives.  
  
It was too much. So much was happening so quickly, Genny could be forgiven for a bit of procrastination.  
  
She sat at her desk, thoughtfully nibbling the end of her quill-- a terrible habit, Silque would remind her. She could have been writing responses to the various letters, making headway through the pile on her desk. Instead, she was writing her epic. Or trying to, at least.  
  
Of course, now that she finally had time to write, her muse had decided not to cooperate.  
  
“Typical,” Genny grumbled to herself. “Here I am, surrounded by swords and sorcerers, heroes all. You would think I’d have no excuse for writer’s block, but _no_ …”  
  
Perhaps reality was stranger than fiction, after all. Or perhaps Genny’s red-headed muse was already an ocean away, and lovesickness was curbing her creativity.  
  
Genny scraped her chair back and stood with a sigh. _  
_ _  
_ _~*~_ _  
_ _  
_ “Let me guess, little one. Writer’s block?”  
  
“Yeah…” Genny blew out a sigh, pouting, resting her chin on her crossed arms. She squeaked as Sonya’s hand came to rest in her hair, leaning into her touch.  
  
“Poor baby,” Sonya cooed. “Just when you’ve finally gotten a little peace and quiet, you can’t even put it to good use.”  
  
“Except the world isn’t at peace. I have a stack of scouting reports sitting on my desk that say otherwise. And I have a dozen other letters, asking the ‘exalted Saint Genny’ to find their lost wives, their lost daughters, and bring them back to the light,” Genny slumped down onto Sonya’s lap, letting Sonya scratch her head. “...Please, Genny, save my wife’s soul from darkness, no pressure or anything…”  
  
“That’s what you get for being a hero,” Sonya smiled.  
  
“I guess,” Genny smiled back. “Oh, Mila, what was I thinking? I’ll just be a one-woman army against every Terror roaming Valentia…”  
  
“Not just one,” Sonya offered. “You’ve got the Queen with you, and her friend that’s always hanging off her arm. And that gloomy blonde, too. See? Really, you’re a _four_ -woman army.”  
  
Genny giggled. “...That’s still not much of an army.”  
  
“It’s barely a patrol,” Sonya teased. She ruffled Genny’s rosy, fluffy hair. “Listen, little one. I know there’s a lot riding on your shoulders. But you’re not in this alone. You have some good people with you. And as soon as Sister Silque lets me out of here, I’ll be fighting right out there with you, too.”  
  
“I’ll be glad for that…” Genny said softly, relieved.  
  
“Not that Sister Silque seems too eager to let me out,” Sonya mused wryly. “Two and a half weeks of bedrest and counting, no more deathly pale skin, no more glowing daemon eyes, but no, she has to be _absolutely_ sure I’m good to be up and about. I’m dying of boredom in here. There’s nothing to do. Normally, a cute nurse _would_ help alleviate that issue. But then, Sister Silque’s rather young for me…”  
  
“Mother!” Genny wailed, mortified. “She’s a cleric! And- and she’s practically my sister!”  
  
“Yes, I know,” Sonya lamented with a smirk. “Pity. She fills out a habit _quite_ nicely.”  
  
“I hear people talking about me,” Silque announced, emerging through the doorway with tea on a silver serving tray. “Good things, I hope.”  
  
“Of course, Sister,” Sonya smirked.  
  
Silque leaned down to set her serving tray down on a nightstand. Genny’s eyes wandered, and she noticed, for the first time in all the years they’ve known each other, just how snugly Silque’s habit clung to her figure.  
  
Genny clapped her hands over her face, squealing in embarrassment like she was fifteen again. Silque chuckled, and shook her head.  
  
“I get the distinct impression that I’m missing something…”  
  
“Oh, no,” Sonya demurred, playful. “You have everything you need and more.”  
  
Genny squirmed in her seat, made a strangled noise, and then channeled the whole of her _‘don’t flirt with my friends’_ indignation into punching Sonya in the arm.  
  
“Ow!” Sonya hissed, but she was laughing in the end.  
  
Genny huffed, finally managing to peel her other hand away from her burning cheeks and her eyes from Silque’s… everything.  
  
“How is our guest?” Genny wondered.  
  
Silque held up a finger for ‘just a moment’, pouring a cup of tea for the girl in the next bed.  
  
Genny hadn’t realized that the girl was even awake-- she had been laying in bed, still as a stone, her skin clammy and gray, her hair stringy with cold sweat and clinging unpleasantly to her face and neck. Her eyes were distant, unfocused.  
  
Genny swallowed hard. Suddenly, all her worries seemed so trivial, by comparison.  
  
The girl’s fingers twitched. Every movement was an effort, as if she were exhausted on every level-- physical, mental, emotional. Silque tenderly eased the teacup into the girl’s hands and slowly lifted it to her lips. Silque helped her drink, and murmured something Genny couldn’t hear.  
  
Something caught the light-- scars, creeping up the girl’s hands like cracks in a glass. Genny gasped, and looked away.  
  
“How is she?” Sonya asked quietly, when Silque had joined Genny at her bedside.  
  
“It varies,” Silque murmured, pouring Sonya’s tea. “You were only, ah… _not yourself_ for about a year. Lady Rinea had been lost to the darkness for six. She’s quiet during the day. Distant, sullen. But then the nightmares come out.”  
  
Sonya winced. “...Yeah. I’ve heard her, at night. It’s… not pretty.”  
  
“How awful…” Genny shook her head.  
  
“You should be proud,” Silque said, resting a hand on Genny’s shoulder. “You saved her.”  
  
Genny bit her lip, staring at the wretched, hollow-eyed woman laying limply in bed, her skin paler than the sheets.  
  
“Did I?” she wondered.  
  
“You did,” Sonya said, taking Genny’s other shoulder with a squeeze. “And I know, I know, you’re gonna say that there are others out there, waiting to be saved, so you should get back to work. But you’re doing a good thing-- an extraordinary thing. You have a right to take a break now and then. You have a right to enjoy some peace and quiet.”  
  
Genny nodded, meeting Sonya’s eyes in a gentle smile. She reached up, her hands closing over Silque’s and Sonya’s on her shoulders.  
  
Genny jumped at the sound of clashing metal. Silque shook her head wearily.  
  
“Of course, ‘peace and quiet’ is relative,” Silque muttered, nodding towards the window. “What in the world are they doing out there?”  
  
Another metallic shriek, this time followed by a raucous, rowdy cheering. Genny frowned, letting her curiosity pull her to the window. She put her elbows up on the ledge, gazing down at the courtyard below...  
  
~*~  
  
Faye hit the ground with a curse. Mae opened her arms and spun in a circle, drinking in the cheers from the loose ring of Zofian soldiers who’d taken a break from their training for a bit of sport. Faye growled and spat in the dirt, snatching up her sword from where it had fallen in the grass.  
  
“Get up, kid!” Saber called from the assembled crowd. “Everybody loves an underdog!”  
  
“Nicely done, Mae!” Boey called.  
  
“Please be careful, both of you!” Celica urged.  
  
Mae gave Celica a smile and a wink, before turning and raising the Ladyblade in salute. It shone in the light, shimmering with magic.  
  
“You ready for another go?” Mae asked, smug. “Don’t worry, sister. I’ll go easy on ya.”  
  
Faye grit her teeth. “...I’m going to wipe that fucking smile off your face.”  
  
Mae smiled dangerously. “...We’d love to see that. Wouldn’t we love to see that, Celica?”  
  
Celica fidgeted, and looked away. Faye brandished her sword.  
  
“Come on!” Faye seethed.  
  
Mae cried out and charged, a streak of pink and red. She dove at Faye in a leaping slash, their clashing blades sending a shiver up Faye’s arms. Their blades met, again and again, each clash ringing across the courtyard. Mae came at her with a relentless flurry of blows, accenting each strike with nimble footwork and artful flourishes.  
  
Faye felt the anger building, deep in her core. This show-off was dancing around her, playing to the cheering soldiers, smiling insufferably to the gathered crowd. Compared to Faye’s rooted stance, Mae was a hummingbird, quick and nimble, impossible to pin down.  
  
But Faye learned from the best.  
  
A bright, ringing clash, like a thunderclap, echoed across the field. Mae’s Ladyblade flicked from her fingers and sank tip-down into the dirt.  
  
Mae stared, dumbfounded. “What--”

Faye punched her in the face.  
  
An ugly quiet rippled through the crowd. Mae took a step back, stunned.  
  
Faye threw her sword aside and punched her again. Mae hit the ground with a gasp, her shock giving way to anger. Faye reared back for another punch--  
  
Mae caught Faye’s braid in her fist, yanked her down, and slammed her knee into her face. Faye recoiled, clutching her nose, blood seeping between her fingers.  
  
Faye screamed out a savage cry and tackled Mae’s legs out from under her. She forced Mae down and cracked her across the jaw once, twice. She grabbed a fistful of Mae’s pigtails and yanked her up, only to flatten her with another punch. Mae sputtered in outrage, bleeding from a split lip. She shrieked a curse and slammed Faye aside, the two of them tumbling across the grass. Mae seethed, rearing back--  
  
Saber’s arms closed around Mae’s stomach and hoisted her off of Faye’s prone form. As Saber wrestled her back, Boey helped Faye get to her feet, leaning heavily on his staff. The girls glared daggers at each other, both of them gasping for breath.  
  
“That’s enough!” Saber said sharply.  
  
A strange feeling bloomed in Faye’s gut-- a giddy, sickening feeling. It bubbled up through her stomach and burst through her lips in a vicious, mocking laugh.  
  
“You’re a bit of a sore loser, aren’t you?!” Faye crowed.  
  
Faye flinched as blood spattered across her face and speckled her blond hair. Mae hissed at her, licking her bloody lips.  
  
“Come at me again, and we’ll see who _really_ won that fight!” Mae barked.  
  
“ _Fuck you! I’ll--_ ”  
  
_“I said ‘enough’!”_ Saber bellowed.  
  
Mae and Faye glowered at each other, covered in blood and grime.  
  
The crowd of spectating soldiers parted, and Celica stepped through. Both girls opened their mouths, as if to say something, before seeing the quiet fury in Celica’s eyes and snatching their gaze away in shame.  
  
Genny came running from within the castle, Silque trailing at her heels. Genny’s eyes widened at the bloody display waiting for her, but she hesitated, letting Celica take the lead.  
  
“Boey. Silque,” Celica began, her voice like ice. “Take them inside, and get them cleaned up.”  
  
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they murmured, bowing.  
  
Silque ushered Faye back into the castle, shooting a venomous look over her shoulder. Mae grumbled and snatched her arms out of Saber’s grip, before grudgingly letting Boey pull her away.  
  
Celica sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, before snapping her gaze up at the sound of urgent, clomping hooves. A unit of Zofian rangers raced into the courtyard, Tobin practically leaping out of his saddle to fall at Celica’s feet.  
  
“My Queen!” he gasped, breathless, eyes darting over to Genny. “My Lady Exalt. A caravan of travelers is under attack, not ten minutes’ ride from here. A large force of Terrors, with a sorcerer leading them. We tried to assist, but the bastards wouldn’t stay down!”  
  
“Summoner,” Celica breathed the word like a curse. She turned and met Genny’s eyes.  
  
Genny nodded, resolute. “The Dragonflight will answer their call. May we ride with you, ser?”  
  
Tobin nodded. He offered his hand, and pulled Genny up onto his steed. Beside him, his fellow ranger did the same for Saber.  
  
“Celica!”  
  
Celica closed her eyes and paused, halfway onto her mount. She saw Mae and Faye lingering, expectant, behind her, pointedly not meeting each other’s eyes.  
  
“You two, stay here and let Boey and Silque tend to your wounds.”  
  
“But Celica--!”  
  
“You need me--!”  
  
_“Do as I say!”_ Celica snapped. “When we return, the three of us are going to have a talk. Until then, stay here! You’re not fit to ride with me today.”  
  
Mae and Faye recoiled as if slapped. They stepped back, bruised with anger and shame.  
  
Celica took the ranger’s hand and pulled herself up into the saddle. She met Genny’s eyes, and nodded.  
  
“My Lady Exalt,” Tobin said, “I will lead you back to where we spotted the caravan.”  
  
“R-Right…”  
  
Genny murmured. She glanced at Celica, then at Saber, and took a deep breath. _  
_ _  
_ “Dragonflight!” Genny called. “Let’s ride!” _  
_ _  
_ ~*~  
  
The rangers departed in a storm of tromping hooves, leaving a tense silence in their wake.  
  
Mae and Faye pointedly took up residence on opposite sides of Zofia Castle’s infirmary, separated by Rinea’s slumbering form. Sonya, sensing the tension coming like a thunderhead, muttered something about perusing the castle library and slipped away before Silque could remind her she wasn’t supposed to be out of bed.  
  
Faye muttered venomously under her breath, stopping her grumbling only when she saw the look in Silque’s eyes. She sighed, and let Silque wipe blood from her face with a damp towel.  
  
Silque tipped Faye’s chin up out of her pouting, a weary look in her eyes. Somewhere in Faye’s core, some of her simmering anger boiled down to shame. She huffed a sigh like escaping steam, leaning into Silque’s touch. Healing power shone from Silque’s fingertips, smoothing away the bruises blooming under Faye’s skin.  
  
Silque met Faye’s eyes with a tender expression, her hands lingering on Faye’s cheeks. Then she reached up, magic flaring through her fingers, and reset Faye’s broken nose.  
  
“Ow! Fuck!” Faye hissed. Across the room, Mae barked out a laugh.  
  
“Mae…” Boey warned.  
  
Mae growled and hung her head like a scolded dog. Boey sighed, cupping her cheek. He smoothed a thumb across the gash in her lips, sealing it in a bloom of soothing green light. Aside from her bark of mocking laughter at Faye’s expense, Mae hadn’t said a word since their fight-- and, really, her silence said it all.  
  
Boey leaned on his staff and pulled himself to his feet. He joined Silque at the door, wringing pink water out of bloodied rags and setting them aside.  
  
“I don’t understand it,” Boey muttered under his breath. “Just a few days ago, those two worked together just fine to perform the purification spell. Lady Rinea is alive because of them.”  
  
“Just a few days ago, those two had Celica to bridge the distance,” Silque said softly. She shook water from her fingers and rolled her habit sleeves back down. “Can you talk to Mae?”  
  
“She won’t, for once. And that’s not a good sign,” Boey shook his head. “You knew Faye, didn’t you? Maybe you can get through to her.”  
  
“We fought alongside the King, in the year before the Dragonfall,” Silque said. “I’m afraid we were never as close as I would have liked.”  
  
Silque blew out a sigh, clasping her hands over her stomach.  
  
“...It pains me to see her like this,” Silque admitted. “Mae, as well. Jealousy can be a... monstrous thing.”  
  
Silque took a deep breath, and let it out slow. She felt Boey gently squeeze her shoulder. She leaned into him, for just a moment. Then she reached up and pulled his hand away.  
  
“Silque?” Boey asked.  
  
“Thank you, Boey,” Silque murmured, her gaze distant. “But it’s none of your concern.”  
  
For someone who’d been a brother to her for more than a decade, that wasn’t quite true. But Boey nodded, regardless, and let it go.  
  
“...I ought to go check on Miss Sonya in the library,” Boey said. “Can you make sure these two don’t kill each other?”  
  
Silque managed a smile. “I’m rather less adept than Saber at breaking up at fight. For one thing, I’m much shorter than he is. But yes, I think I can manage.”  
  
Silque touched Boey’s hand, as if in benediction. They shared a nod, before Boey slipped out down the hall, his staff tapping at the stone floor.  
  
Mae and Faye were sitting on their beds, facing away from each other, their arms crossed and pouting. They were almost amusing in their childish, stubborn anger-- but the pile of rags in the pail of water at Silque’s feet, stained with blood, made things rather less funny.  
  
Silque found her eyes wandering to Faye. She guiltily snatched her gaze away, instead settling on Mae on the opposite side of the room.  
  
A weary fondness warmed Silque’s chest. This was hardly the first time she’d had to clean up a pouty Mae after a fight. And it would hardly be the last...  
  
~*~  
  
She ran through the trees, a streak of violet in a sea of gray.  
  
The thick canopy overhead painted the scattered sunlight in green and gray. She ran, her lavender coattails flying behind her like wings, like the first ribbon of color in the gray skies before dawn.  
  
Monsters loomed in the shadows. They reached for her with groping hands, claws like wood splinters, ghost lights burning in their eyes.  
  
She cried out, her sword flashing in the dappled sunlight. Ghastly flesh crinkled and sheared like paper under her strikes, animated ghouls collapsing into lifeless swirls of dead leaves and wood pulp. But a foul wind swept through the forest, stirring the undergrowth. For every ghoul that fell, two more rose to take its place.  
  
She ran, her legs burning. In the twilight around her, people were dying-- beset by ghouls, their throats torn out by snapping, wood splinter teeth, cries of fear and pain petering out into awful gurgling.  
  
This was a massacre. Her code urged her to fight, to protect. But there was one person she had to save before anyone else.  
  
“Sensei!” she cried. “Sensei, where are you?”  
  
She caught a glimpse of shining violet eyes in the gloom ahead. She grit her teeth, steeling her grip on her sword.  
  
She burst into a clearing and stopped just short of a little stone marker. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings-- a grassy field, and rows of stones too neat and tidy to be anything but man-made.  
  
She paled. A graveyard. An ill omen, indeed.  
  
Ghouls loomed through the trees, their eyes shining with the foul magic filling their skeletal frames.  
  
Sweat beaded on her neck. The air was thick, muggy, stifling. She reached up and swiped a sleeve across her brow, bracing her sword in both hands. The assembled ghouls paused just within the treeline, staring out at her like a night sky filled with hateful crimson stars.  As if they knew they had her surrounded. As if they knew she couldn’t escape.  
  
A sudden frigid wind rustled her coat. She shivered, feeling the tell-tale signs of sorcery in the air.  
  
The shadows flickered strangely at her feet.  
  
All at once, the horde of ghouls charged through the trees, as if heeding some silent command. She grit her teeth, readying her blade.  
  
Darkness rose from her feet in tendrils of inky black shadow, spiraling around her in a hurricane of whispering voices and scything blades. The wind howled like the sigh of the dead-- and the dome of spiraling black shadow exploded outwards, rings of black magic cutting the horde to ribbons with a sound uncomfortably like cruel, human laughter.  
  
Ghouls fell apart, covered in great, cleaving wounds that wept with dark smoke.  
  
The girl let out a breath, long and slow.  
  
There was a flicker of movement in the corner of her vision and she whirled around, her sword raised--  
  
“Sensei!” she gasped, her eyes lighting up.  
  
A woman emerged from the treeline, clad in a striking monochrome ensemble. She wore a long, dove-gray gown that was both stunningly elegant and entirely unsuited for running through a forest. Cascading down her shoulders was a black mantle of interlocking fabric diamonds, giving the impression of black-feathered wings. In her hand, she clutched a staff of dark, lacquered wood, studded with bits of obsidian that glinted like stars.  
  
The woman grunted as the girl in lavender dove into her arms. She blinked owlishly behind a pair of round spectacles, a fond hand coming to rest in the girl’s hair.  
  
“What, were you worried about me or something?” she asked blithely, as if she hadn’t just shredded a mob of Terrors with dark magic so thoroughly that she’d left gouges in the surrounding trees.  
  
“Naturally,” the girl replied.  
  
An eerie breeze swept across the field, tinged with the tell-tale feeling of sorcery. The girl broke away from her embrace with a growl, drawing her sword. The air grew sticky, stifling.  
  
A pulse of sickly violet light surged across the ground. Moments later, a new wave of ghouls rose up to face them, made of sterner stuff than wood and plant litter. The dead rose against them, ghostfire burning in their hollow eyes.  
  
The girl grit her teeth. Her companion merely pouted, tugging at her heavy, feathered mantle.  
  
“I’m beginning to think we’re dressed a little too warmly for this country,” she mused. “Then again, I suppose that’s the price of fashion…”  
  
“Sensei, this is hardly the time…!” the girl cried, beset by ghouls. She swatted aside a swiping claw with her sword and chopped a dessicated arm off at the elbow. She buried her sword in a ghoul’s chest, kicking it away to free the blade, before cutting another ghoul’s head clean off.  
  
The ghoul’s head groaned mindlessly, even severed as it was. The rest of its body dragged itself forward, held together by a sorcery more powerful than the fragile thread of natural life.  
  
A spike of black shadow rose out of the ground and gored a six-inch hole through the ghoul’s chest. It shuddered, and died, and the girl spun around to see her companion, groaning and clutching her head.  
  
“...Okay…” the older woman muttered, rubbing her temples. “...maybe that spell earlier took more out of me than I thought…”  
  
Another ghoul reared up. The girl chopped its leg off at the knee and left it to crawl, scrambling back with an arm protectively around her partner.  
  
“Stay behind me, Sensei,” she growled. “My sword arm never tires!”  
  
“I don’t think that’s actually true…”  
  
The sorceress ducked beneath a swiping claw, slapping the ghoul away with a whip of living shadow. Another dove at them, and impaled its skull on the girl’s sword with its own momentum. It crunched down to the ground, and the girl shoved a boot onto the ghoul’s chest, fighting to yank her blade free. Another ghoul leapt over a gravestone. The sorceress swatted it out of the air and cleaved another ghoul in two before the darkness coiled around her arm abruptly flickered and went out. She let out a shuddering breath, wiping blood from her nose with fingers trembling with magic drain.  
  
“After all the places we’ve been to…” she lamented, as the horde of ghouls closed in. She reached out, took the girl’s hand and squeezed.  
  
“Not like this,” she murmured. “Not like this…”  
  
Her words proved apt. For as the horde of ghouls surged forward, twin lights shot through their ranks. The first surged into the sorceress’ form and filled her with the soothing green of healing power, swelling her lungs with her second wind. The second flitted into her companion’s hands.  
  
The girl freed her sword just as another ghoul lunged for her face. She smashed it aside, cleaving through the ghoul like butter, and gasped in awe at the pale blue fire wreathing the blade. She looked up at the sound of pounding hooves, and broke into a grin.  
  
The Dragonflight burst into the clearing, their weapons shining with blessed light. Genny herself led the charge, wreathed in luminous ribbons of leaf-green and ocean-blue, her hair shining like a crown, her staff held high.  
  
~*~  
  
The sun began to dip below the trees, stretching the shadows in Zofia Castle until they were eerily tall and thin. At evening bell, Silque wheeled in a serving cart and poured three bowls from a tureen of soup. The rich, earthy smell of herbs and root vegetables filled the air, pushing out the myriad less pleasant scents of a castle infirmary. She set the bowls on a table in the center of the room, along with a bottle of wine, a wedge of hard cheese wrapped in cloth, and a loaf of oven-fresh bread, still steaming. She gave a pointed glance towards Mae and Faye on opposite sides of the room, before pulling a chair up to Rinea’s bedside and helping her eat.  
  
Faye, still fuming about their fight, was in no mood to eat. Mae was-- she always was-- but she had already stubbornly decided not to take a single step closer to Faye than she had to, even if that meant foregoing dinner. Mae wasn’t an idiot. This was hardly the first time Silque’s tried to coax an apology out of her with food. But if Silque thought dinner was enough of a bribe to get Mae to literally meet Faye halfway, then she had another thing coming.  
  
Unfortunately, Mae was discovering that staying mad at someone was _really_ boring. It was already bad enough that she was sitting still. And when the silence finally became too much to bear...  
  
“So, what are you?” Mae blurted out, facing the far wall. “Some kind of gold digger?”  
  
Faye sat up, but didn’t turn around. “...Excuse me…?”  
  
“You heard me,” Mae said, putting her hands on her hips. “I get it. You’ve got a thing for Celica. So, what, did you just think you’d marry a queen and then you’d be set for life?”  
  
Faye grit her teeth, glowering at her wall. “I knew Celica _long_ before you did.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, I’ve known her since.”  
  
“And how’s that worked out for you, huh?” Faye snapped. “It’s been eleven years since she left Ram. You’ve known her all this time, haven’t you? What do _you_ have to show for it?”  
  
“Sh-Shut up!” Mae shot back. “The point is, I’ve known her way longer than you have, so if you think you can show up out of the blue--”  
  
“And what? Do what you _wish_ you did, years and years ago? You never even told her!”  
  
_“It wouldn’t matter!”_  
  
Mae was on her feet, her fists clenched. She took a seething breath, and let it out slow.  
  
“...It wouldn’t matter,” Mae said. “Celica is married, now. She’s Queen of Valentia. Her marriage has to keep an entire country together. And even if it didn’t, even if I had said something sooner, she’d still be royalty, and I’d still be an orphan on an island who just happens to knows a bit of magic. It wouldn’t matter.”  
  
Faye exhaled.  
  
“At least she’d know.”  
  
Mae shrugged. “So what? She’s here now, and I’m here now, because of Genny. We’re demon hunters now, and that’s pretty cool. Like a swords-and-sorcery fantasy epic, which, y’know, is fitting, for Genny. But once we step back out into the real world? She’ll have a castle, and a country to run. And me? I’ll have nothing.”  
  
“Not nothing,” Faye said. “What about that sage, Boey? You two are practically joined at the hip.”  
  
Mae blew out a sigh, crossing her arms and hugging herself. “...It’s… different, with Boey. I don’t know how to explain it, but…” She made a face, frowning. “--but you don’t know me, and you don’t know us, and I don’t have to argue this with you…”  
  
Faye rolled her eyes. “Oh, _come on_ , sister! Do you know what I have waiting for me back in Ram? A backwater chapel and a turnip field! All my friends came here to serve the royal family, but no, _I_ had to stay home, because _I_ had responsibilities. I had a little brother and an aging grandma to take care of, and that’s _fine_ ,” Faye grit her teeth, “because I love my family, but it wasn’t what I _wanted_ !”  
  
“Well, what _do_ you want, then?” Mae demanded. “Celica?”  
  
“ _No!_ Yes? I-- I don’t know!” Faye snapped. “I just know I want more than to grow old in the ass end of nowhere! I want more adventure out of life than just going into Fleecer’s Forest to set snares for rabbits! I want to _be_ someone, and I want to have someone _with_ me while I get there. I didn’t have _anyone_ back in Ram! Do you have _any_ idea what that’s _like_ ?!”  
  
“Yes, I do!”  
  
“ _No, you don’t!_ ” Faye shrieked. “I’d spend nights staring at my ceiling, just wishing I had someone to talk to! Have you ever lied awake, missing someone so much it felt like someone digging your heart out of your chest?!”  
  
“Yes, I have!” Mae insisted. “So I get it, okay? I get it!”  
  
“ _Do_ you?” Faye pressed. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’d give you the whole world if you asked him! How dare you compare yourself to me! I had nothing! No one! You think you were lonely? _You_ had someone. You were just too busy staring out at the sea to realize who’s been with you this whole time!”  
  
Something clattered against the floor. Mae and Faye both jumped, startled, before turning around to see what it was. They found Silque, plucking Rinea’s soup spoon off the floor.  
  
“Forgive me, Lady Rinea,” Silque said hurriedly. “Let me… get you a new one…”  
  
Silque folded the dirtied spoon into a napkin and hurried away, her eyes glistening. She pulled the infirmary doors shut with a bang and retreated down the hall.  
  
She was gone for a long time. Silence descended back upon the infirmary. Rinea weakly pushed aside her dinner, half-finished, and settled back into bed, her eyes heavy-lidded. Faye stared at the door, a realization forming far too late.  
  
Mae sighed. Her anger drained from her body, leaving only an aching emptiness. Part of the ache was an old hurt, long in the making. The other part was just hunger. She sighed, clapped her hands on her knees and pushed herself to her feet. She dragged a chair over to the table Silque had set in the middle of the room, and sank down into her seat.  
  
The bang of Mae’s chair against the stone floor jolted Faye out of her thoughts. She pulled her eyes away from the door, blew out a sigh, and pulled up a chair.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” she said quietly.  
  
“Fuck off,” Mae said, with only a trace of malice.  
  
“It’s okay, though,” Faye muttered. “I’m an idiot, too.”  
  
Faye blew out a sigh. She uncorked the bottle of wine, and poured two glasses. Mae took hers with a grateful nod, and handed Faye a slice of bread. She took a bite; it was nice enough. But it would have been better fresh.  
  
“Y’know, I’m probably not even angry at you,” Mae mused, absent-mindedly stirring her soup. “I’m just angry at myself.”  
  
“Yeah,” Faye said, glancing at the door. “I know.”  
  
“I’m sorry for fucking your nose up,” Mae said. “And for spitting blood in your face. And for…” Mae gestured vaguely with her hand. “...all the rest.”  
  
“Yeah,” Faye murmured. “Me, too.”  
  
Mae paused, chewing thoughtfully. She took a sip of wine.  
  
“...You know, you’ve got a hell of a punch.”  
  
Faye almost smiled. Almost.  
  
“...Thanks,” she said. “So do you.”  
  
~*~ _  
_ _  
_ The Dragonflight laid waste to the horde with sword, shot, and spell. When felled by magic, or by blessed weapons, the summoned ghouls did not rise again.  
  
Saber joined Tobin and his men on a sweep throughout the surrounding woods, hoping to flush out any remaining revenants-- or, better yet, survivors. Unfortunately, it seemed like caravan guards with mundane weapons were no match for a swarm of summoned Terrors. The two survivors fished their belongings out from the ruined remnants of their caravan, the forest trail festooned with bodies and ransacked goods. They joined Genny and Celica in the clearing, catching glances of Saber or Tobin’s rangers on horseback in the midst of their search.  
  
“Good thing there’s a graveyard right next door,” the sorceress said.  
  
“Sensei!” the girl hissed.  
  
“Anyway,” the sorceress continued, waving away her ward’s concern. “Thank you for your assistance, travelers. You saved my life, and for that I am grateful. My name is Shade. I am a student and teacher of dark magic, which I’m well aware hasn’t won me many friends, particularly in this land.”  
  
“You are welcome here, Miss Shade,” Celica bowed her head. “You and your… daughter?”  
  
“I’m _not_ that old,” Shade chortled, her hands coming to rest on the swordswoman’s shoulders. “This is Yuzu. I would call her my apprentice, though she doesn’t have so much as a drop of magical potential in her body. So, owing to that… yes, ‘daughter’ will suffice.”  
  
Yuzu saluted with a bow and a fist over her heart.  
  
“It is an honor to have fought at your side,” she said.  
  
Genny smiled. She took in the two unfamiliar faces, her gaze lingering on Shade’s glinting, lacquered staff and artful feathered cloak.  
  
“Wow,” Genny giggled. “You’re so… _elegant_ , Miss Shade. My mother would _love_ to meet you.”  
  
“Why? Is she single?”  
  
“ _Sensei_ …” Yuzu hissed, while Genny fought a blush.  
  
“She’s a bit stiff,” Shade smiled, squeezing Yuzu’s shoulders. “But she’s a genius with a sword. Now, who may I say had the pleasure of coming to our rescue?”  
  
Celica and Genny exchanged glances.  
  
“...I’m Celica,” Celica began, foregoing any titles.  
  
“I’m Sister Genny,” Genny followed suit. “Of the Dragonflight.”  
  
“‘The Dragonflight’? In a land without dragons? Curious,” Shade mused.  
  
“You’re travelers, yes?” Celica asked. “Where are you from? Archanea?”  
  
“Somewhere a lot farther than that,” Shade chuckled. “We’re looking to put down some roots. Maybe start up a school. But first, we have to find a friend of mine. We’d intended to come here together, but we were separated before we arrived. Noah, a sorcerer like me. About my height, silver hair like mine, though I’m afraid only a fraction as fashionable. Have you seen him?”  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Genny said, bowing her head in apology.  
  
“Then our search continues,” Yuzu said, stern.  
  
“Before you go, allow us to offer you our hospitality,” Genny said. “Please, come back with us. Castle Zofia is only a short march away.”  
  
Yuzu went stiff. Genny was worried she’d somehow offended them-- but Shade broke into a peal of bright, amused laughter.  
  
“The royal treatment, straight out of the gate?” Shade chirped. “ _How_ could I say no to _that_ ?”  
  
Genny smiled. Celica laughed. Yuzu--  
  
\--saw him.  
  
“Sensei!” she cried, yanking Shade behind her. Something flew out of the trees. Yuzu slapped it out of the air.  
  
The obsidian throwing knife shattered against Yuzu’s sword. Chipped volcanic glass dusted Shade’s cloak-- and a four-inch shard transfixed her chest.  
  
Shade sank to her knees, gasping. Yuzu bit out a curse and charged into the trees, the renegade sorcerer shedding the shadows as if they were a cloak.  
  
“Get back here, villain!” Yuzu snarled.  
  
“Genny, stay with Shade!” Celica called, before charging off in pursuit.  
  
Shade wheezed, instinctively clutching at the shard in her chest. Genny eased her to the ground as gently as she could, gathering healing power to her fingertips. Shade shook her head, her eyes wide.  
  
“...No, little one… get away…”  
  
“Don’t worry, I can help you…!” Genny urged. Shade closed her eyes.  
  
When she opened them again, the shard in her chest was shining with a toxic, violet light.  
  
A wave of roiling darkness exploded out of Shade’s fingertips and smashed Genny into a tree trunk so hard she couldn’t even scream. Genny gagged in pain, all the wind forced from her lungs, as tendrils of darkness crept up the tree and drew taut around her body.  
  
Shade’s hands were wreathed in pulsing violet shadow, but there was a milky white nothing in her eyes. Shining runic circles spun around her wrists, gleaming bright in the fading sunlight.  
  
Power flared in Shade’s grasp, shadows closing around her like a vice. Genny cried out, her staff falling from her shaking fingers. But she clenched her fist, a warm pink light gathering in her hand...  
  
~*~  
  
“What are they?” Faye asked, curious. “Those scars.”  
  
Mae glanced at her strangely. She wiped her mouth on a napkin, and pushed her empty plate aside. She followed Faye’s eyes to Rinea’s slumbering form, and to the blackened scars spiraling up her arms and staining her hands a frostbitten gray.  
  
“Magic scarring,” Mae said slowly, as if it were a trick question. “From heavy magic drain. What, you don’t know? Aren’t you a Priestess of Mila?”  
  
Faye bristled. “...Well, yeah, but…”  
  
Mae waved the thought away. “I get it. Sorry. But yeah, when you use too much magic, either all at once or over a long time, you start fucking up your hands. That’s probably part of why Archanea mostly switched over to tomes. Hers do look kinda weird, though. They say that magic scars reveal your inner elemental affinity, whatever that means. But she’s got two-- ice, and fire.”  
  
Faye nodded, somber.  
  
“Who she was… and who he wanted her to be.”  
  
Mae gave her a strange look, but said nothing.  
  
“...Do you have those, too?” Faye asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Mae said. She pulled off a glove and flexed her fingers, her hand stained red and raw by the forking patterns of burnt blood vessels beneath her skin. Lightning affinity.  
  
Faye bit her lip, quietly realizing that her question was a lot more personal than she’d thought.  
  
“Why?” Mae said, pulling her glove back on. “Don’t you?”  
  
“No,” Faye said, glancing down at her hands. “I mean, I know some magic, but I haven’t been using it my whole life, like you. I just have these calluses from working the fields, holding a sword, fighting, that kind of thing. It’s not the same, I know.”  
  
“Well, hey,” Mae shrugged. “You got those fighting for Celica, right? So… it’s kind of the same.”  
  
The moment bloomed between them with something approaching warmth.  
  
Then a flare of magical light exploded across the evening sky, painting them in the colors of sunset-- pink, orange, and gold. Mae and Faye jumped to their feet.  
  
“Celica,” they breathed, together. Their eyes met.  
  
Then they ran.  
  
~*~  
  
A stack of tomes hit the carpeted floor with a thud.  
  
“ _Genny…!_ ” Sonya gasped, pink lightning flicking across her face. She met Boey’s eyes for one, stricken moment, and then she was running.  
  
“Miss Sonya!” he called. “Miss Sonya!”  
  
She shouldered past the two girls running out of the infirmary, barely even registering they were there. She yanked a tome out of her pack, the first one she could find, clipped it to a leather belt and slung it over her shoulder. She pulled her signature purple cloak off her bedpost, tied it around her shoulders, and bolted out the door.  
  
Sonya burst into the stables to find a unit of Zofian rangers returning from patrol. She ran up to the nearest ranger and shoved him away from his mount, to the bemusement of his fellows, oblivious to the fact Mae and Faye would be doing the same in just a few minutes’ time.  
  
Sonya swung herself into the saddle and snapped the reins. They took off at a gallop, her cloak flying behind.  
  
The orange, pink, and gold of Genny’s flare seared itself into the back of Sonya’s eyelids. She took a shuddering, anxious breath, pulling up the tome she’d lashed over her shoulder and belatedly checking which one she’d chosen.  
  
Excalibur. Yes, that would do nicely.  
  
Not that it mattered. Even without a tome, she’d cast from her own life, draw power from the fire of maternal fury blazing in her core. If Genny was in danger, she didn’t need magic. If Genny needed her, she’d throttle a high dragon with her own two hands.  
  
“Miss Sonya!” came a voice. Sonya glanced over her shoulder and saw Mae riding behind her, Faye at the reins.  
  
Sonya gave them a grim nod, pressing her lips into a line.  
  
“Hold on, little one…” she whispered. “Mama’s coming.”  
  
They shot down the trail together, Genny’s mother and sisters both, cloaks flying, shadows stretching in the low, fading light.  
  
~*~


	4. Monochrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a graveyard on the outskirts of the Zofian capital, the Dragonflight face a nightmare; and on a distant, dreary gray shore, Genny dreams of another world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kept you waiting, huh? I hope you all enjoy the read! ^^
> 
> Content warning: This chapter includes a fairly intense depiction of suffocation. Please proceed with care.

~*~  
  
_Everywhere, the dead smile at him._ _  
_ _  
_ _They spill across the badlands like maggots out of rotting meat, wisps of ghostfire shining in their hollow eyes. Great blooms of fire explode across their ranks, sending dozens of ghouls flying with every blast. Still, they come, dozens, hundreds more._ _  
_ _  
_ _The tide of snapping, clawing bodies meets their opposition with a crunch. They slam into a shield wall gleaming green and gold, shrieking and thrashing, raking ragged gouges into the metal. A man in oxblood armor bellows an order down the line._ _  
_ _  
_ _As one, the line of defenders brace themselves against the ground and shove. In the half second the swarm staggers back a step, a wall of spears rise up to meet them. A dozen ghouls shriek and die in unison, the spearmen pulling back their arms and using their shields to dislodge the bodies on their blades. Seconds later, the swarm surges forward and crashes into the shield wall once again._ _  
_ _  
_ _He winces at the echoing crunch, the hideous wet slap of grotesque flesh against scarred, pitted metal. He watches from the back lines, atop his black mare, anxiously scuffing the ground with her hooves. Other officers on horseback shout their orders down the line, fighting to make themselves heard above the din. But he is no soldier, and these men aren’t his to command. He is here as a guest, only-- to observe, and record._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Sunset on our first seven-day,’ he scratches into a tome, bearing a magicked quill that needs no inkwell. ‘Seven days’ travel south from the castle. Slow going through the mud. We’re just now entering the quarantine zone, and already we’ve been all-but stopped in our tracks.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘The creatures here are still relatively tame-- revenants, bonewalkers, lesser daemons all. Still, they’ve come at us in numbers enough to choke the path into the ruins. My own acolytes, along with the Exalt’s clergy and other volunteers, have spent all day raining fire down on the horde in an attempt to thin their numbers. Hours of bombardment, and still, we’re no closer to our goal.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘The forces arrayed against us are not acting on mere instinct. They’re coordinated, focused, acting with intent. Some great, unfathomable will spurs these creatures against us. It is as if the labyrinth itself is… alive, somehow. As if it knows we’ve come to destroy it.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _A soldier cries out. A lucky swipe rips the helmet from his head, claws trailing broken links of chainmail like chaff in the air. An instant later, the revenant’s teeth sink into his neck, tearing out his throat in a ghastly spray of gore._ _  
_ _  
_ _Ghouls spill through the cracked shield wall like a leak in a hose, snapping, biting, swiping. A hollow-eyed revenant shrieks, its claws flashing through the air._ _  
_ _  
_ _He snaps his tome shut and flicks his wrist. There’s a ringing clash, and a ghostly blade turns the blow aside. A pale, translucent axe buries itself in the revenant’s chest. It seethes, reeling with pain and anger, but it doesn’t die-- it slashes through the phantom, dispelling it into luminous mist. An instant later, the ghoul dives through the fog and hurls him off of his mount._ _  
_ _  
_ _They hit the ground, tumbling, the scholar wheezing as he rolls, tangled in his dark robes. The ghoul’s snapping jaws are inches from his throat. He takes the closest thing at hand and smashes the ghoul aside with his broad, heavy tome._ _  
_ _  
_ _The revenant glowers at him with empty-eyes, as if astonished to be smacked aside by a book, of all things. It growls, its claws glinting in the light--_ _  
_ _  
_ _\--and dies, a blast of golden light carving a smoking, six-inch hole through its rotting torso._ _  
_ _  
_ _He blinks up at his savior, a woman with a gentle smile and pale smoke still wisping from her staff, looking resplendent in white and seafoam green. He takes her offered hand and sheepishly swipes grime from the hardcover of his tome._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Light watch you,” she says gently._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Darkness keep you,” he intones, with a grateful nod._ _  
_ _  
_ _He hoists himself back onto his horse, only to clutch the reins in surprise when she rears, anxious, at a sudden, sharp bang._ _  
_ _  
_ _The Light, it would seem, does far more than just watch-- it shoots through the clouds in a pillar of blazing golden fire, crashing down in a cascading wave of light and fury. Entire ranks of undead soldiers shriek as the beam devours them, obliterated into embers, ashes and dust._ _  
_ _  
_ _The deafening blast fades, the blinding light glimmers down into a mere gleam atop the Exalt’s staff, and she calls out, the conviction in her voice piercing the ringing in the scholar’s ears._ _  
_ _  
_ _“We have to push forward!” she calls, gleaming in white. A cloak billows at her shoulders-- red and gold outwardly, plum and silver within. She whispers an invocation to her staff, before it blazes up like a torch, conjuring another pillar of golden fire that punches a hole in the horde of ghouls and sears another dozen corpses into the mud._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Lord General, hold this line and keep our exit clear! Riders, with me!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The Exalt raises her shining staff above her head, lighting the way into the dark depths as the mission team pulls into formation around her. Another woman, on a white stallion, pulls up beside her; a lone pegasus beats its mighty wings above. Two more riders come up at their flanks-- a rider in burnt orange armor, a red pennant flying from her lance. Her companion, hooded and cloaked in olive green, bow in hand, her horse’s haunches strung with spare quivers. Two riders, safely tucked away in the center of the formation, gaze across the battlefield and meet the scholar’s eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _His fellow sages salute him with a tip of a staff and a tome clutched to a chest. He swallows hard, feeling the comforting weight of his own chronicle clutched between his fingers._ _  
_ _  
_ _The cleric in green chases the anxiety from his trembling fingers with a touch of her hand, gazing up at him in benediction. Then the Lord General rides up on his rugged destrier, and claps a hand on the scholar’s shoulder._ _  
_ _  
_ _They exchange wordless goodbyes, a host of feeling passing between them in a touch, in a look. And then the scholar snaps his reins, pulls up to the rear of the formation, and the mission team breaks into a gallop, chasing the Exalt’s beacon into the long, lonely dark..._  
  
~*~  
  
In the woods beyond the Zofian capital, another rider raced through the trees. The dusky sky shone with the last remnants of Genny’s call for aid-- a beacon of brilliant pink light that shone like the first evening star and seared itself into Sonya’s eyes.  
  
Sonya rode like a woman possessed, on a black stallion stolen from Castle Zofia’s stables. A hardcover tome swung on its strap over her shoulder, clapping against her thigh, her violet cloak snapping in the wind.  
  
So focused was she on the pink light on the horizon, and the thought of Genny in danger, that she scarcely noticed the duo on her tail.  
  
Mae and Faye rode at Sonya’s heels, sharing a mount, Faye at the reins and Mae behind, clinging reluctantly to Faye’s shoulders. She furrowed her brows in concern, scanning the trees as they flew past, her thoughts on one woman and one woman alone.  
  
A low-hanging tree branch snapped Mae from her thoughts and scored a bloody welt across her face.  
  
“Ow! Fuck!” Mae hissed, clapping a hand over her cheek. She shot a poisonous look at the girl in front of her. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?!”  
  
“You’re the one who’s not even sitting right!” Faye snapped. “Come on! Hunker down! Knees tight! Didn’t anyone ever teach you to ride?”  
  
“No,” Mae grumbled, surly. “Do you think we had any horses on Novis? All we had were sheep! And- and fish!”  
  
Faye rolled her eyes, muttering. “...useless…”  
  
“Listen, _sister_ ,” Mae growled, making the word sound like something altogether less civil. “Maybe I dunno how to ride one of these dumb things, but I know how to sail! I bet if you ever set foot on a boat, you’d be getting puke all over your nice dress!”  
  
“Alright. Alright!” Faye snapped. She could’ve said more, but she bit back her retort, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.  
  
Mae paused, and blew out a breath. Her tense, white-knuckle grip on Faye’s shoulder loosened, becoming less of a threat.  
  
“...Let’s not fight,” Faye said, at last. “Remember why we’re here.”  
  
Mae nodded. She mutely studied Faye in front of her, adjusting her posture on the saddle to mimic hers. She pulled her knees closer around their horse’s flanks, and hunkered down, looping an arm around Faye’s waist.  
  
“...For Celica,” Mae murmured into the back of Faye’s neck.  
  
Faye sighed. She slipped one hand from the reins and closed it over Mae’s with the lightest of touches.  
  
“For Celica,” she echoed, as they rode into the dark.  
  
~*~  
  
_“Celica!”_  
  
The voice echoed strangely through the air, muffled and distorted by the encroaching trees. But Celica knew that voice, would know that voice anywhere; a Sister, her sister, in more ways than one.  
  
A bloom of pink light burst across the sky and cast the woods in its rose glow. Celica looked up with a gasp, searching the trees.  
  
“Genny…” she breathed.  
  
“My lady!”  
  
Celica snapped her gaze back in front of her-- and reflexively parried a spell from her face with the flat of her blade. The orb of magic burst as she slapped it away, spattering her clothes with shimmering violet grease. Beloved Zofia’s blade shone with light, unscathed by the foul magic; her clothes couldn’t say the same, sizzling and wisping smoke as the spell ate at the fabric.  
  
Something crashed into Celica from the side and toppled her with a grunt. She rolled onto her back in the grass only to see the tree behind her disintegrate into wood chips and sizzling dark magic, and Yuzu crouched dutifully above her, hardwired to fight and protect.  
  
Celica almost smiled. Yuzu was young, scarcely more than a child, and stiff with formality. But she was not without her charms.  
  
Yuzu bolted across the clearing, sidestepping a bolt of corrosive violet light, her fur-lined lavender coat trailing behind her like wings. Her quarry balked at her headlong charge, turning and fleeing deeper into the woods--  
  
\--when a trio of shuriken flashed out from Yuzu’s sleeve and stuck fast in the man’s thigh.  
  
The sorcerer hit the ground like a stone, spitting a curse. He turned to face Yuzu, wincing as the throwing stars pressed against the ground and bit deeper into his leg.  
  
“Prepare yourself, knave!” Yuzu cried, raising her sword. “Your karma descends!”  
  
Whatever humanity was left within the sorcerer’s hollow gaze expressed itself through his limbs, scrambling backwards from his approaching executioner in what would seem to be mortal terror.  
  
That is, until he laid his hand flat on the tree trunk behind him, and dark power surged into the wood.  
  
The tree came apart with a bang, Yuzu crying out in alarm. A fell wind picked up and hurled the debris into Yuzu’s face, bombarding her with a hail of shredding, splintered wood. Yuzu grunted, shielding her face with the flat of her blade, wood chips tearing and fraying at her coat.  
  
Celica yanked Yuzu to the ground and slapped away the storm of stinging splinters with a curl of magicked flame. It recoiled, singed and smoking, surging past and taking shape at their backs-- a trio of revenants, their bodies knit together of paper and tree bark, their claws and teeth formed of sharpened, slivered wood.  
  
Lying prone on the forest floor, the sorcerer gathered orbs of sickly violet light at his fingertips, and hurled them through the clearing. The globs of dark magic spattered against tree trunks and oozed through the bark, filling the wood with an eerie violet glow.  
  
Trees shriveled and died, exploding into smoke and wood chips and being reborn as ranks of revenants. Celica clasped Yuzu’s wrist and helped the younger girl to her feet, wincing in sympathy at the multitude of scrapes and scratches lining her face, her arms, peeking out from under her shredded coat. But where Celica’s eyes were soft with concern, Yuzu’s gaze was hard-- glowering at the encroaching ranks of conjured revenants, realizing that they were surrounded.  
  
Yuzu blew out an exasperated sigh, more annoyed than afraid.  
  
“...Just what kind of devilry do you _practice_ in these lands…?” Yuzu muttered.  
  
“Sorry…” Celica smiled, sheepish. “...Of all the ways you could experience Valentian culture…”  
  
“Perhaps I could sample a few Valentian sweets next time,” Yuzu said dryly. “Perhaps pet a few cats.”  
  
“That can certainly be arranged…” Celica muttered.  
  
They stood, back-to-back in the eye of the storm, surrounded by summoned monsters on every side. Yuzu pulled a trio of shuriken out from where they were tucked in her bracer, holding them between her fingers, her sword firm in her hands. Behind her, Celica stood, Beloved Zofia braced in both hands, magical fire dancing along the shining blade.  
  
“You’ve a talent for fire, my lady,” Yuzu murmured. “How fortuitous. For if this villain keeps gathering servants, we may find ourselves needing to burn this accursed forest down…”  
  
Celica shook her head. She blinked, briefly flicking her vision into the shadowed world of astral space-- the domain of mages and monsters. An intricate web of violet light connected the revenants clustering in the trees, all leading back to the hollow-eyed spider at its heart.  
  
“These creatures are bound to his will,” Celica explained, “Kill the summoner, the summoned will fade.”  
  
Yuzu nodded. “...So. Shall I take this half, and you the other?”  
  
“Take the summoner,” Celica said, lips curling into an audacious grin. “I’ll handle the rest.”  
  
With a silent command and a twitch of his fingers, the sorcerer’s minions leapt into action. They charged, snapping and snarling, a sea of splintered wood.  
  
Genny’s flare had faded from the sky, leaving a moonless night, shadowed trees, and a sea of monsters in ashen gray. But fire blazed in Celica’s hands, an aura of flame exploding out at her feet and rising up at her command. Beloved Zofia flashed through the air, and a wave of fire followed its path, blazing a trail through the horde of revenants like a phoenix--  
  
\--or a dragon.  
  
Celica wielded Beloved Zofia as if she were conducting a symphony, a brilliant blaze of light and fury cascading through the trees and blasting the horde around her to cinders. Yuzu took off at a run, her eyes locked on the sorcerer who’d given her and her dear Sensei so much grief. Smouldering revenants, knocked flat by Celica’s explosive power, rose up to block her path. She threw her arm aside, shuriken glinting in the firelight. Three dense thwacks of blades through paper skulls. Three fallen revenants, swallowed up in Celica’s flames.  
  
And the sorcerer, hollow eyes wide with fear and, perhaps, awe.  
  
In the darkness of the woods, Celica made her own light. And Yuzu leapt through the glittering flames, her coat flying like wings, her sword flashing down like a dragon’s fang.  
  
~*~  
  
_Black water. Fire in her lungs. Cold. So cold._ _  
_ _  
_ _Light. A pale white light, high above._ _  
_ _  
_ _So far. Too far. Reach._ _  
_ _  
_ _Reach!_ _  
_ _  
_ _Breaking the surface. Gray sky. White sand. Black grass._ _  
_ _  
_ _No color. No breath. Why? Why can’t she--_  
  
~*~  
  
Genny sucked in a breath.  
  
She fell on all fours in the grass, her chest burning, tears down her cheeks, spots dancing in her eyes. Across the clearing, Shade staggered back, the unearthly violet leaving her eyes. She fell on her rump in the grass, still clutching the shattered remnant of a ritual knife stuck fast in her collar. Shadows fell limply away from Genny’s wrist and throat, dripping off her skin like bad tattoos.  
  
Breathless, exhausted, Shade mustered her last scrap of strength and yanked the shard of obsidian out of her collarbone. She threw it across the clearing and clamped a hand to the wound in her chest, panting, as the shadows on the ground shivered and went inert. In the distance, Celica’s firestorm lit up the night sky, carrying with it the sound of roaring flames and the ringing clash of a falling blade.  
  
“Kid!” Shade called. “Kid, are you okay?!”  
  
“...yes…” Genny croaked out, hoarse. She reached up, massaging the mark, red and raw, that the tendrils of living shadow had left around her throat.  
  
Shade sighed in relief, mashing the heel of her palm into her eyes. Genny lifted her head and met her eyes across the clearing. Shade flinched, and looked away, her head heavy with shame.  
  
“...Kid, I’m so, so sorry…” Shade grit her teeth. “...It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me, I _swear_ …”  
  
“I know,” Genny urged. “I know.”  
  
Genny plucked her staff up from the grass and pulled herself to her feet, breathing slowly to ease away the sharp ache in her lungs.  
  
Genny frowned. An eerie breeze swept through the clearing, sending a shiver down Genny’s spine. The pale crystal orb, suspended within the crescent of Genny’s staff, grew murky and clouded.  
  
Something was wrong. Genny could sense that the presence that had seized control of Shade a moment ago was gone now. But Shade still had an open wound, physically and spiritually-- open enough to let something older and more dangerous inside…  
  
Shade clapped a hand over her mouth. She screwed her eyes shut, clutching her stomach as if she might retch.  
  
“Miss Shade?!” Genny cried out in alarm.  
  
“Oh, no,” Shade breathed, a barest whisper of the deepest terror. “He’s here.”  
  
“I am a cleric of Mila!” Genny declared. “I can _help_ you!”  
  
“No, no, no…” Shade shivered and seized, an aura of violet smoke rising around her form. “Get away from me, kid! Get _away_ !”  
  
Shade threw her hand forward. Something shot out of the undergrowth, turned aside at the last moment with a crack of Genny’s staff. It hit the ground and slithered away-- not a tendril of shadow, but a vine, dark, fleshy, bristling with brambles.  
  
Dark magic surged through Shade’s limbs and sent the woods shivering with unlife. Magic seeped out from her feet like the roots of a great tree. A briar bush came to life in her footsteps, sickly and swollen, its barbs glinting black, violet magic shimmering like veins within. Shade’s aura surged, her hair lifting in an otherworldly breeze, coiling and curling up over her head, fusing into horns.  
  
And through it all, even with her eyes shining like hateful violet stars, tears ran down Shade’s cheeks as she begged this child, this innocent, to run for her life from the horror wearing her skin.  
  
“Maybe I am just a kid,” Genny whispered, her fear melting into resolve. “But I am a healer at heart. And I _will_ heal you.”  
  
The nightmare screamed through Shade’s mouth, tears spilling from shining violet eyes. Briar vines shot out like spears, curling around Genny’s wrists. Genny clutched her staff in one hand, the headpiece shining like a torch, and smashed aside the vine with a flash of burning light.  
  
Two more vines snaked out of the undergrowth and darted forward, smashing against a conjured dome of solidified light. Genny ducked, wincing as a briar scraped past her shoulder, before darting aside as another two vines stabbed into the tree trunk at her back. More vines stretched out from Shade’s back, like the limbs of a great spider, stinging like scorpions. And Genny weathered the assault under a dome of pink light, immolating coiling briar vines in flashes of pink fire, flower petals drifting like embers in the air.  
  
Genny cried out, her eyes flashing with conviction, and plunged her staff into the ground. A shining glyph took shape beneath her feet, haloing her from below with a pillar of golden light.  
  
Shade herself shrank back from the radiant glare, even as her myriad brambles kept snapping at Genny, burning as they touched her barrier but still stubbornly forcing their way through. Leaf litter and smouldering nettles cascaded around her, but Genny stood tall.  
  
“It’s useless…” Shade whispered, whimpering in despair. “He’s _here_ …”  
  
“ _And I’ll not let him take you again!”_ Genny cried, drawing the sign of purification in shining strokes of her staff. **_“Relea--”_ **  
  
The vine pulled tight around Genny’s throat. She gagged, her barrier flickering, her spells fading. She grit her teeth and blasted the vine away with a swing of her staff, ablaze with pink fire-- only for two more vines to punch through her wrists and pin her arms to the tree behind her.  
  
Genny’s scream died in her throat as two more vines locked around her neck, the stinging nettles biting into her skin, drawing blood. Her conviction cracked, crumbling back into fear, as she stared up at the sky, choking.  
  
“I’m sorry…” Shade wept. “...I’m sorry…”  
  
Genny’s staff fell from numb fingers, thumping into the grass. The light that shone in her grasp, the colors of her power, orange, pink, and gold, faded like sunset below the trees. There were spots in her eyes, and a fire in her chest-- but that, too, was a fire that couldn’t burn forever.  
  
Colors faded. Became shapes. Shadows.  
  
Memories.  
  
The priory. Her family. Her friends. A shock of red hair and a daredevil smile.  
  
Gone. In an instant. In an eternity.  
  
Black. White. Black. White...  
  
~*~  
  
_Gray._ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny takes a deep breath of air thick and heavy with impending rain. She pushes herself up to her elbows, feels soft, loamy sand between her fingers, waves lapping at her knees._ _  
_ _  
_ _She rises out of the water, her skirts clinging to her legs. She blinks, taking in her surroundings-- a long gray shore, awash with dark, inky water. A forest. And a road. Everything in black, white, or gray, as far as the eye can see._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘You don’t belong here.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny whirls at the voice, but finds no one. She hears fluttering wings in the distance, catches a glimpse of black feathers through the trees, but there’s no one. Just the shore, the path leading into the woods, and a gray, clouded sky, glowing faintly as if lit by moonlight._ _  
_ _  
_ _No one else here. Nowhere else to go._ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny blows out an anxious sigh. She takes a deep breath, and begins to walk..._  
  
~*~  
  
“ _Genny!_ ”  
  
Sonya’s tortured shriek split the air, leaf-green light shining at her fingertips. A blade of focused wind sheared through the vines coiled like a noose around Genny’s neck, and she fell, limp, from their grasp.  
  
Sonya shot forward on a gust of magicked wind, catching Genny as she fell and cradling her in her arms. The severed briars crumbled to ashes and dust around her neck, and Sonya swept them away on a curl of wind. Below the vines, Genny’s flesh was red and raw. The soothing green light of healing power gathered at Sonya’s fingers and she pressed them to Genny’s throat, gasping when she felt a pulse.  
  
A second shout echoed across the clearing. Sonya looked up just as Mae came running, sliding to her knees at Sonya’s side.  
  
“Genny!” Mae cried, anguished. “Oh gods, is she--”  
  
Sonya shook her head. Mae gasped, tears welling in her eyes. She pulled Genny’s hand into both of hers, smiling through her tears.  
  
“Genny,” Mae babbled, urgent. “Genny, it’s me. It’s Mae. We’re going to get you out of here, okay, Gen? We’re going to be okay…”  
  
Mae squeaked in alarm as Sonya fired a blast of wind over her shoulder, shredding a trio of darting vines with a gust of scything wind. Mae whirled around, reaching for her sword--  
  
A vine coiled around her wrist and yanked her to her feet, dragging her across the clearing. Mae looked up to see a woman in black and gray, ghost lights in her eyes, thick stalks of nettle falling from her shoulders like the limbs of a great spider, her form shivering with vines.  
  
Mae grit her teeth, electricity crackling in her clenched fists.  
  
“You!” she cried out. “Where’s Celica? And what did you do to Genny?!”  
  
The thing wearing Shade’s skin didn’t respond-- only sent another spiky vine shooting out of the undergrowth.  
  
Mae snatched it out of the air with her left hand, her sword hand taking hold of the other vine binding her wrist. She cried out in fury, snapping the vines as if they were the reins of a horse. Acid-yellow lightning surged down the vines and into the daemon, inhuman shrieks issuing from Shade’s all-too-human lips.  
  
“You’re going to pay for what you did!” Mae seethed, lightning cascading down her arms. In her fury, she didn’t see the vines creeping along the ground until they snaked around her ankles. Mae yelped in surprise, hoisted into the air.  
  
Faye rode in, screaming a battle cry. Her sword flashed in her hands, the blessing along the blade shining like blue fire. She cleaved through the vines holding Mae aloft. She hit the ground with a curse, smouldering, twitching vines landing beside.  
  
“Ow! _Thanks_ , Faye!” Mae snapped.  
  
Faye shot her an indignant look. Mae caught herself.  
  
“...I mean… thanks,” she muttered.  
  
Faye’s expression softened.  
  
“...Yeah,” Faye murmured.  
  
She wrapped the reins tight around one hand, her sword shining in the other. Mae got to her feet, Ladyblade drawn, lightning crackling in her off hand. Their eyes met, honey gold and wine red.  
  
“Look alive, sister,” Faye said, sacred blue fire coiling around her blade. “This isn’t over yet.”  
  
Mae nodded. The daemon raised Shade’s arms, violet light shining at her fingertips. Magic pulsed through the woods, sending another wall of nettles bearing down.  
  
The girls braced themselves, blades raised to parry the incoming briars-- but a shout echoed across the clearing, a magicked gale slapping the nettles aside.  
  
They glanced behind them. Sonya was kneeling over Genny’s form, still breathing but eerily still. Sonya tenderly laid Genny down in the grass, a hand lingering on her cheek. Then she stood, resolve flashing in her eyes. She strode forward, her crimson gown and violet cloak snapping in the wind spiraling around her. Silently, she raised the tome slung over her hip, the pages flitting in the breeze.  
  
When she spoke, her voice was as cold as ice.  
  
“You’re not going to lay another _finger_ on my little girl.”  
  
The ghostfire briefly faded from the daemon’s eyes. Shade took a shuddering breath, clutching her head, eyes flicking between unearthly violet and stormy gray.  
  
“Believe me, lady,” Shade muttered, exhausted. “I’m _trying_ .”  
  
The daemon loosened its hold over her just long enough for Shade’s fear and shame to surface-- before seizing control once again, her eyes flashing violet as she sent her vines charging forward.  
  
Lashing vines smashed against Mae and Faye’s swords, deflecting away in flashes of blue flame and crackling yellow. Nettle vines snapped at them like scorpion tails, but Sonya threw her hand aside, her tome’s pages fluttering.  
  
Sonya blasted apart the snapping vines with a gale of scything wind, magical wind gathering beneath her. Sonya shot forward, a tornado beneath her feet, screaming her vengeance into the night. She slammed into Shade like a cavalry charge, and sent them careening into the trees.  
  
~*~  
  
_Gray._ _  
_ _  
_ _Gray clouds overhead. Gray fog between the trees. A gray road underfoot._ _  
_ _  
_ _She isn’t alone here. There are others beside her, walking the road, but no heads turn to mark her passing. Some shuffle along, stooped with age. Some crawl on all fours. None of them look at her, or each other, or anywhere except straight ahead, into the endless, gray fog._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Too young.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny turns, and sees a man-- or something in the shape of a man. In truth, he’s a shapeless figure in dark, bulky robes, like a smear of ink on a page. Black robes. Pale skin. Silver hair._ _  
_ _  
_ _Monochrome. Just like everything in this muted, shadowed place._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Too young,’ he echoes, shaking his head mournfully at the shades walking past._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Hello?’ Genny asks._ _  
_ _  
_ _The man jumps, startled._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘You can see me?’ he asks, his voice strangely muffled, faint, as if he’s speaking from miles away. He looks Genny up and down, a frown flicking across his gaunt face. While Genny’s vibrant pink clothes had faded to the bleary gray of this place, tinges of auburn still lingered in her hair, in her eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘...Yes, of course,’ the man muses, thoughtful. ‘You don’t belong here.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Where are we?’ Genny wonders. ‘What is this place?’_ _  
_ _  
_ _The man raises an eyebrow. ‘You don’t know?’_ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny blinks. ‘...N-No. I don’t.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Yes, you do,’ the man murmurs, somber. ‘We all do, deep inside.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _It comes to Genny, then; like a memory, clouded by time. A memory from long, long ago, long before Genny was born-- a memory from the waking of the world._ _  
_ _  
_ _The name comes to her lips just as the last of the color drains from her face._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘The Sunless Road,’ Genny whispers, aghast._ _  
_ _  
_ _The hooded man nods. ‘Yes.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _Panic seizes Genny’s chest. She reaches up, clutching at her throat, feeling the echoes of nettles biting into her skin, the burning in her lungs…_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Then that means… Then I’m…!’_ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny’s legs give way beneath her. She falls to her knees in the loamy, gray soil, wrapping her arms around herself._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘...Oh gods…” Genny whimpers, sobbing in fear. ‘Oh gods, oh_ **_gods_ ** _…’_  
  
~*~  
  
Sonya and Shade exploded through the undergrowth, wreathed in shredded plant matter and howling winds. They rolled through the dirt, like two lovers tumbling. Sonya slammed Shade’s back onto the ground, cracking her fist into her jaw. Sonya snarled out her fury, smashing her fist into Shade’s temple once, twice--  
  
A vine curled around Sonya’s ankle and hurled her across the clearing, end-over-end. Sonya righted herself with a gust of wind, softening her impact against a tree trunk. She darted aside as two animated nettle vines speared into the bark, ducking beneath another lashing vine. She leaped through the air, wind curling around her form. Vines shot up from Shade’s feet. Sonya twisted and turned in mid-air, narrowly avoiding being skewered by the briars. Bramble vines snaked around her, nicking and scraping and drawing blood, binding her tight in a net of possessed plantlife, kept at bay only by a protective bubble of focused wind.  
  
Shade clenched a fist, and the vines pressed tight against Sonya’s barrier, shielded only by the force of the spiraling gale. Sonya cried out and clapped her hands together, magic pulsing in the air. Her barrier dissolved into a hail of shrapnel, a shockwave that tore apart the tangle of vines pressing around her and leaving the path to her quarry clear.  
  
“What did you do to my Genny?!” Sonya screamed. She drove a knee into Shade’s gut and pulled her into an over-the-shoulder throw that smashed her shoulders down into the grass.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Shade wheezed. “This isn’t what I wanted--”  
  
Shade squealed as Sonya threw her hand aside and a blade of focused wind tore a ragged slice across her chest. Violet flame surged in her eyes. A nettle vine flashed over her shoulders and slashed a matching cut up Sonya’s torso.  
  
Sonya growled, snatching the vine in her hand. She yanked Shade up off the ground only to floor her with another punch, Shade gagging as Sonya’s hands closed around her throat.  
  
“Is this how you did it?” Sonya seethed, murder in her eyes. “Is _this_ what you did to my little Genny?!”  
  
Shade’s hips bucked beneath her, her hands scrambling to her neck, but Sonya wouldn’t budge, a cold fury burning in her eyes. Shade gagged, the color draining from her face, the violet fire leaving her eyes--  
  
_“No!”_  
  
Something cannoned into Sonya from the side and sent her tumbling through the undergrowth. She got to her feet, catching a glint of light on a flashing blade.  
  
Sonya yelped and swatted the blade aside with a curl of magical wind, blasting her attacker back against a tree.  
  
Yuzu’s head hit the wood with a crack and she swore, her vision swimming. She readied her blade in her hands.  
  
Sonya saw the blade, and saw her opening. Power gathered between her fingertips, not wind, but lightning, hungry for the lightning rod so graciously held in Yuzu’s grasp. Sonya cried out, loosing the bolt--  
  
Celica’s hand clamped around Sonya’s and she whirled around, channeling the bolt harmlessly into the sky.  
  
“That’s enough!” Celica cried.  
  
“Out of my way, princess!” Sonya demanded. “This bitch almost killed Genny!”  
  
“Get back, knave!” Yuzu snapped. “I’ll not let you harm her!”  
  
“Step aside, kid!” Sonya hissed. “I’m not afraid to hurt a little girl!”  
  
_“I said ‘Enough’!”_ Celica thundered.  
  
Behind them, Shade wheezed, wreathed in violet smoke. An ugly yellow bruise was forming over her face, the ragged wound across her torso still weeping blood. Sonya growled, and Yuzu reflexively stepped forward-- but Celica took them by the wrists and held them back.  
  
“Wait,” Celica hissed. “ _Wait._ ”  
  
“He’s here,” Shade whispered, shaking her head. “...He’s here, and he won’t let me go.”  
  
Sonya met Celica’s eyes, hesitating.  
  
“...What the hell is this…?” Sonya hissed.  
  
“Sister Genny... Is she…?” Shade murmured, beseeching, searching Sonya’s eyes. She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You have to… you have to finish it.”  
  
“Sensei, no,” Yuzu begged.  
  
“You have to,” Shade insisted. “His hold is weaker now, but he’s not gone. But if I can keep him with me, then maybe…”  
  
“Wait, wait, wait!” Sonya snapped. “What the hell are you saying?”  
  
Shade took a shuddering breath.  
  
“...Kill me,” she whispered. “Before he kills you.”  
  
Celica gasped. “Now-- Now wait just a minute--”  
  
“ _Please!_ ” Shade shrieked. “I’m hurt. His hold is weak, but if you kill me now, he’ll die with me! Quickly! Before he seeks another host!”  
  
Celica turned, and met Sonya’s eyes. Sonya stepped back, aghast. Celica turned to Yuzu, rooted in place. She swallowed hard, and drew her sword.  
  
“Stop,” Yuzu said.  
  
She clenched her fists. She stared at the ground, blinking back tears.  
  
“I’ll do it,” she said. “It has to be me.”  
  
Yuzu strode forward. Sonya opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. Yuzu stopped above Shade’s prone form, her blade glinting in the light. Shade grimaced in pain, pulling herself up to her knees.  
  
“...Do it right,” Shade whispered.  
  
Yuzu’s breath hitched in her throat. Her grip tightened around her sword until her knuckles were white.  
  
“...Sensei,” Yuzu intoned, trembling. “Journeying with you has-- It has been an honor, Sensei.”  
  
Shade nodded, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles.  
  
“I love you too, kiddo.”  
  
Yuzu raised her blade in salute, gazing at her own reflection in the polished steel. She met her own eyes, grit her teeth--  
  
\--and threw her blade aside.  
  
Sonya gasped. “What--”  
  
“Yuzu, _don’t_ !” Shade screamed.    
  
“Foul creature! Wretch of the abyss! I welcome you into my spirit!”  
  
Yuzu opened her arms, silhouetted by a rising aura of violet flame.  
  
“Begone from my mentor’s weary mind! _Take me instead!_ ”  
  
_“Yuzu!”_ Shade screamed, but it was too late-- the presence flooding her limbs cascaded out of her through mouth in a plume of smoke, lit from within by a toxic violet light. The daemon surged into Yuzu’s limbs and she seized, mouth frozen in a silent scream, until, at last, she was deathly still.  
  
Yuzu opened her eyes, haloed in ghostfire. Her lips curled back in a vicious smirk, violet light gathering at her fingertips. She spun towards Sonya and Celica, coattails flying, throwing her hands forward--  
  
\--only for the spell to fizzle out just beyond her fingertips, flickering into nothing.  
  
The violet fire flickered in Yuzu’s eyes, as if confused, and Yuzu’s smirk became entirely her own.  
  
“Sorry to disappoint you, _daemon_ ,” Yuzu grinned. “But I’m no _mage_ …!”  
  
The daemon’s hold over her guttered like a candle in a strong breeze. Yuzu saw her moment, reaching down and drawing the dagger at her belt.  
  
Then Yuzu cried out, and plunged the blade into her chest.  
  
Violet light exploded around her, a starburst of white fire burning in her chest. Yuzu screamed, crumpling to the ground and convulsing as the daemon shared her death throes, the monochrome forest around her bursting with light and color for one brilliant moment.  
  
And then she was gone.  
  
~*~  
  
_Genny walks the road at the end of all things._ _  
_ _  
_ _She walks because she must. Because she has no choice._ _  
_ _  
_ _Because she knows, deep in her bones, that someone is waiting for her ahead._ _  
_ _  
_ _She waits at the end of the Sunless Road. A woman, all in black. A white ankh hangs on a chain around her neck; a black ankh, tattoed on her face, falls like a teardrop down her cheek. And in the shadow of her footsteps, there is a beating of mighty wings._ _  
_ _  
_ _The woman beckons Genny forward without a word, stretching out her hand. An ivory snake slithers out of the woman’s sleeve and coils around her wrist. She, like the rest of the world, is entirely black and white. Monochrome, save for the eyes of the snake on her arm, which are a brilliant, vivid gold._ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny stops in her tracks, her eyes wide with fear._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘...No…’ Genny swallows hard. ‘...I can’t…’_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Do not be afraid,’ intones the woman in black, so tenderly, so lovingly that it makes Genny’s heart ache. ‘Take my hand, child.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Wait!’_ _  
_ _  
_ _The man appears before her. He doesn’t run up to Genny’s side; he simply appears out of the fog, a drop of ink blooming in water._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘You cannot take her,’ he says, his eyes twinkling in the darkness of his hood. ‘There’s been a mistake.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _The woman smiles and shakes her head._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘That’s what they all say. But she gets what they all get: a lifetime. Same as you.’_ _  
_ _  
_ _A shadow moves behind them, and they all turn to face her._ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny gasps, a hand over her mouth._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Yuzu!’ she calls._ _  
_ _  
_ _Yuzu walks the Road, a white light burning in her breast. She looks up at Genny’s call, startled, as if she’s only now realizing where she is and what she’s done._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Sister?’_ _  
_ _  
_ _Genny’s heart lurches at the word, at the mere sight of a familiar face in this dreary, fog-shrouded wood. She comes running, color bleeding back into her skin, her hair, the pink of her gown and the vivid red of the rose medallion around her neck._ _  
_ _  
_ _She throws her arms around Yuzu’s neck. Between them, the rose medallion shines like a star, filling this shadowed, monochrome world with the colors of sunrise-- orange, pink, and gold._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
The sun crested the trees, ribbons of pink and gold bursting fully into bloom. The skies over Zofia Castle filled with light, birdsong, and most of all, color-- a blessed reprieve from black, white, and gray.  
  
Genny woke with a gasp, feeling a strange trill in her heart. She sat up, clutching at her chest. The rose medallion still hung around her neck, the icon of her veneration as a saint. She searched the room, frantic--  
  
There. Curled up in the next bed, gentle, serene.  
  
“...Yuzu…” Genny murmured. She reached out, unbidden, and clasped the other girl’s hand.  
  
“You know, white isn’t really your color, either.”  
  
Genny turned. Her eyes lit up-- and she threw her arms around Sonya’s neck, clinging to her tighter than she ever had before.  
  
~*~  
  
“How long was I out?”  
  
“A week,” Celica replied, accepting a teacup from Silque’s tray with a grateful nod and a touch of her hand. “You and Yuzu both. We were worried we’d lost you, for a moment. But your recovery was handled by the best.”  
  
Celica winked. Silque chuckled, affectionately ruffling her hair.  
  
“A whole week,” Genny blew out a sigh. “...Do you think I’ll even be able to find my desk under all the missives?”  
  
“I’ve been taking care of that for you,” Celica smiled. “It would seem you’re getting quite popular.”  
  
“Celica!” Genny squealed. “You’re a Queen! I didn’t ask you to join the Dragonflight just so you could be my _secretary_ !”  
  
“Really, it’s no trouble,” Celica laughed. “Genny, I was your sister long before I was a queen. The bulk of them are just Terror sightings, anyway. Troop deployment. I think Saber appreciates me taking some time to do some boring paperwork, anyway-- he doesn’t have the time to look after me, since he’s been worried sick about _you_ .”  
  
“That sounds like him,” Genny giggled.  
  
“We were all worried about you, you know,” Celica clasped a hand over Genny’s and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re back.”  
  
Genny beamed. She took Celica’s hand and squeezed back.  
  
“My Lady Exalt?”  
  
Shade appeared in the doorway, wringing her hands. She held her dark, lacquered staff in one hand, her feathered mantle draped over her arm. Under the hem of her dove-gray gown, Genny saw the long, diagonal slash across her torso-- sealed in a week with only the faintest of scarring, and with no trace of the pummeling Sonya had given her in a vengeful rage. Silque knew her craft well.  
  
“Miss Shade,” Genny dipped her head. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Shade paused, taken aback. Genny had just spent a week in a hospital bed thanks to her, and Genny was asking how _she_ felt?  
  
“...Honestly? I’ve had worse hangovers than this,” she said. “I’m… I’m myself, again. And that’s a lot more than I could have asked, or hoped for, really.”  
  
Shade cleared her throat. She crossed over to Yuzu’s bedside, her hand lingering in Yuzu’s hair.  
  
“...You know…” Shade began, wistful. “...She always said that she’d sworn her life to me. I never expected her to actually go ahead and do it.”  
  
She turned, and dipped into a deep, stately curtsy.  
  
“...Thank you, my Lady Exalt,” Shade said, somber. “The Dragonflight saved my life, and the life of one whom I hold dearer than anything. You have paid us a kindness that we cannot begin to repay. We don’t have much to offer-- save our lives.”  
  
Shade bowed her head.  
  
“I pledge myself, and my ward, into your service, Sister Genny, Exalted of Mila,” Shade intoned. “You gave us our lives. It is only fitting that you should receive them, in turn.”  
  
Genny opened her mouth, as if to protest, then closed it again. She nodded.  
  
“Thank you, Miss Shade,” she bowed. “May we do great things together.”  
  
“With a crew like yours?” Shade smiled. “We will. We certainly will.”  
  
And with a rustle of skirts, Shade was gone. A strange melancholy fell across Genny’s face in her absence, and she leaned her chin on her hand, pensive. Celica leaned in, giving her a knowing smile.  
  
“...I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that whole ‘pledging their lives to me’ part,” Genny said. “I’m just… me.”  
  
“Well,” Celica smiled. “‘Just you’ is still pretty great.”  
  
Genny beamed at her. She leaned over and affectionately bonked her head into Celica’s shoulder.  
  
A clash of metal made Genny jump, startled. Another clash, followed by a shouted cheer from the courtyard below. Across the room, Silque rolled her eyes, setting a teacup down on Rinea’s nightstand.  
  
“So much ruckus, first thing in the morning,” Silque grumbled with a weary fondness. “Sick people are trying to sleep! I mean, honestly…”  
  
Genny crossed over to the window to take a peek, and gasped, a hand over her mouth. Celica joined her at the window, placing a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Mae and Faye crossed swords with a ringing clash of metal, before breaking apart, circling each other dangerously, matching daredevil grins on both their faces.  
  
“Okay, hold up,” Mae said, lightning crackling along her sword. “What did we agree on, again? If you win, you teach me how to ride?”  
  
“And if you win, you teach me how to sail,” Faye said. “You better prepare yourself, sister, because you’re not dragging all the way to the coast just to settle a bet.”  
  
“Guess you better beat me, then,” Mae grinned.  
  
Their blades met again with a flash of sparks, Faye’s blade wreathed in a cold blue fire. They struck again, and again, Faye’s heavy, two-handed blows sending shivers up Mae’s arms.  
  
Mae swore, shaking pins and needles from her hands. She glanced up, and caught a familiar glimpse of red. She grinned even wider. She met Faye’s eyes.  
  
“Hey. Think you can go easy on me? Celica’s watching.”  
  
Faye chuckled. “Then we both need to be at our best.”  
  
They flashed each other matching smiles, before diving in again.  
  
Genny flinched as their blades clashed, stepping back from the window. Celica squeezed her shoulder, reassuring.  
  
“The three of us had some time to talk, while you were sleeping,” Celica said gently. “We, ah… we came to an… understanding.”  
  
Another clash of blades. Another wince.  
  
“Are you sure we shouldn’t stop them?” Genny asked, worried.  
  
“It’s okay,” Celica smiled. “We’ll be okay. And besides, they need to stay on top of their form-- we have a lot more work to do…”  
  
Genny stood at the window, her rosy hair ruffling in the breeze. The sun rose over the trees, bathing the world in rich, golden light. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. Compared to the ashen gray of that shadowed forest, the world seemed impossibly bright.  
  
That world lingered on the edge of Genny’s senses. The gray shore. The monochrome forest. The woman in black.  
  
Those were questions that could wait for another day. For now, Genny was alive, and her family was with her, and, besides a lingering heartache for a certain redhead across the sea, she couldn’t ask for more.  
  
Genny stood, basking in the light, Celica at her side.  
  
They almost didn’t see the girl padding up beside them. They didn’t see her raise her arms above her head and stretch, didn’t hear her yawn, didn’t hear her bare feet on the cool stone. She came up beside them, squinting in the brilliant morning light, a hand over her eyes to block out the glow.  
  
“Yuzu?” Genny wondered.  
  
She turned, the dawn’s light settling in her fluffy, rosy hair, shining like a halo, or a crown.  
  
The girl met her eyes with a gasp, feeling a warmth and light she hadn’t felt in years.  
  
“Good morning, Sister Genny,” Rinea said, and smiled.  
  
~*~


	5. Stargazer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rinea had lost herself for six years, trapped in her own despair. 
> 
> In six weeks among the Dragonflight, she finds herself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, this started out as "let's have a breather from all the action" and then accidentally became 11k. 
> 
> That being said, I couldn't be prouder to present it. I hope you all enjoy the read. ^^

~*~  
  
_Gray. Everywhere she looks, gray, gray, gray._ _  
__  
__Something pierces the fog of memory-- the sharp crack of a wooden door bursting open and hitting the stone wall, and the voices, lifting, in a rising chorus._ _  
__  
__“Where do you want her?!”_ _  
__  
__“Here! In here!”_ _  
__  
__Suddenly, she’s adrift in a sea of bodies. Her vision blurs with streaks of pink and purple, like ribbons of fading light in the night sky. She sees a flash of red hair, hears the queen’s sharp, commanding tone as her voice cuts through the din._ _  
__  
__“--prep for transfusion! Boey, I need a viable sample synthesized five minutes ago! Mae, keep it together, hon. I need you ready to help me seal the wound once we remove the dagger. Silque! Silque, where are you?”_ _  
__  
__“I’m here, I’m here. Celica, where do you need me?”_ _  
__  
__A shadow falls over her eyes. A man in an eyepatch and scuffed armor grunts, unceremoniously dropping something into the next bed with a thud. She catches a glimpse of a pale woman, haggard and exhausted, shrouded in gray-- before the man takes a seething breath, and the sharpness of his tone makes her heart catch in her chest._ _  
__  
__“What. Happened.”_ _  
__  
__“What do you think?” snaps a woman in red. She rolls her eyes at his irritated huff. “Don’t you get snippy with me, big guy. I left Genny in your hands, and you--”_ _  
__  
__“You think I let this happen?! Listen, you--”_ _  
__  
__She sucks in a breath, whimpering. The man snaps his gaze towards her and she flinches, shrinking away--_ _  
__  
__“_ ** _Enough_** _,” comes a small, but stalwart voice. Just one word, and a touch of a hand, and her two companions bite back their anger._ _  
__  
__“Not here. Not now,” Silque hisses, small beside her two companions but commanding their respect nonetheless. They share sober glances, nodding._ _  
__  
__Silque shoos them away, but her eyes linger on hers. Silque reaches out, taking her hands with a gentle, reassuring squeeze._ _  
__  
__“Shh. It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”_ _  
__  
__“Silque! Silque, I need you!”_ _  
__  
__“I’m here!” Silque calls, urgent, but she still spares a last, soft glance. “...I’m here,” she echoes, so gently it makes her heart ache. “Go back to sleep, sweetie. Just go back to sleep--”_ _  
__  
_ ~*~  
  
Rinea woke up.  
  
Shapes. Shadows. The infirmary at Zofia Castle resolved itself out of the gray fog of memory. She groaned, reaching up and mashing the heel of her palm into her eyes.  
  
Rinea heaved out a sigh. Every day, like this. Distant, disorienting, her thoughts always straying into daydreams, into memories, never quite certain what’s real and what’s not. Every day was an exercise in picking reality from the intrusive thoughts, picking the present from the past, remembering who she was, where she was, _what_ she was. The last few weeks here at the castle had felt like a dream; hazy, insubstantial. But there was one constant; one anchor. The one thing that made this all worth it, and the one who Rinea could never fail to greet with a smile.  
  
“Good morning,” Sister Silque cooed, in her low, melodious voice. Through the skirl of Rinea’s thoughts, she found herself wondering if Sister Silque ever sang. She’d make a lovely contralto.  
  
“Good morning,” Rinea rasps. Her tongue was like cotton in her mouth, her voice hoarse from disuse. She made a face, sheepish.  
  
“We’ll have to do something about your throat,” Silque chuckled. She took her familiar place at Rinea’s bedside, setting her silver serving tray down on the nightstand and coaxing a teacup into Rinea’s grasp.  
  
Rinea grit her teeth as shadows flitted across her eyes-- exhaling as she realized it was just her hands, emerging from the pale, wide sleeves of her hospital gown. Her sleeves slid down as she accepted her tea, revealing the full extent of the scarring down her arms. Her flesh was ashen gray, cut through with a web of scars that glinted like frost along her wrists, her fingers blackening as if she’d dipped them in ink.  
  
Rinea took a shuddering breath, her heart churning with anger, indignation, shame, a thousand other nameless feelings, all swirling through the fog. Her lips curled into the barest of frowns, her fingers trembling--  
  
“Careful,” Silque urged, closing a hand around Rinea’s and steadying her grip. “Don’t spill.”  
  
Rinea blinked, gazing at Silque with a sudden, strange clarity. As if she’d been dreaming, and was only now noticing that Silque was there.  
  
Rinea nodded, and let Silque guide her teacup to her lips. She sipped her tea, savoring the feeling of it soothing her parched throat and warming her to her core.  
  
“They’re serving breakfast down in the great hall,” Silque said. “I can bring you down, if you’re feeling up to a little exercise.”  
  
Rinea grit her teeth. She thought of her aching legs, her numb, scarred arms, of the whole of Zofia Castle witnessing her in her uselessness, in her _shame_ \--  
  
Her teacup trembled in her fingers. She raised it to her lips and took a sip, meeting Silque’s eyes. They held no malice, no judgment. Just a gentle, abiding compassion, as deep and blue as the sea.  
  
“Not… today,” Rinea managed. “S-Sorry.”  
  
Rinea stared down at her tea, rippling thanks to her unsteady hands. Silque nodded gently, reaching forward and patting Rinea on the arm.  
  
“Maybe next time, then.” Silque cooed. “How are you feeling?”  
  
That was a loaded question, and Silque knew it. Rinea slumped down with a sigh, searching for an answer.  
  
What could she say? That her withered legs ached from not being used in years? That her tea was just a vague warmth in her numb, blackened fingers? That the restless, gnawing humiliation and despair of being stuck in a hospital bed, infirm, useless, hurt more than the bed sores and the throbbing in her calves ever could?  
  
Or that somehow, despite the numbness in her fingers, the gentle touch of Silque’s hand sent a warmth fluttering through her chest, one that she kept pretending was just her morning tea?  
  
Rinea blew out a sigh, gazing up at the ceiling. She caught a glimmer of Silque’s eyes, briefly clouded with worry.  
  
“Rinea?” she murmured.  
  
“...Better,” Rinea managed. Her ashen fingers curled around Silque’s and squeezed. “I’m feeling… better. A little better every day.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Silque beamed.  
  
Her smile was so bright Rinea had to look away. She fixed her gaze on the teacup in her lap, watching how Silque’s hand lingered in hers, even now.  
  
“...I’m still not talking very much,” Rinea murmured, sheepish. “You’re… really the only person I talk to. And walking is still difficult. But I’m not sleeping all day, anymore, so that’s… that’s something. But now I’ll just sit all day in bed, just… thinking about things… and I don’t know how many of those thoughts are real. And how many are just… bad dreams...”  
  
Rinea trailed off, melancholy. Her lips twitched into a frown, and she downed the rest of her tea in one long swallow.  
  
Rinea silently let Silque pluck the empty teacup from her hands-- and looked up, blinking, as Silque replaced it with a little bundle, wrapped in cloth. Rinea unfurled the fabric to reveal a small hardcover book and a white feather quill, shimmering blue with an enchantment to never run out of ink.  
  
“For you,” Silque said, so tenderly it made Rinea shiver. “Maybe this will help…”  
  
Across the room, a figure lurked in the shadows. It wasn’t a ghost, emerging from the fog of Rinea’s memories; it was a woman, hollow-eyed with regret and haunted in her own right, but still, ultimately, human.  
  
Shade leaned glumly against the far wall, draped in her black-feathered mantle and looking like she hadn’t slept in a week. Her eyes drifted between the two girls in their infirmary beds before her. Yuzu, her torso wrapped in gauze, a star of crimson light shining over her heart and blooming from beneath her bandages. Genny, a sigil of leaf-green light gently spinning around her throat.  
  
The two girls lay on their sides, their hands open as if reaching for one another. In astral space, a thread of light bound the two girls, their auras mingling in a way Shade couldn’t explain. But it didn’t take a mage to see their connection. The rose medallion around Genny’s neck shone with a gentle pink light, mirroring the light blooming at Yuzu’s breast.  
  
Shade blew out a shuddering sigh. The girls were alive, if not awake. But they were both here, bedridden and on the brink, because of her. Her mistake. Her weakness.  
  
Shade went stiff as a figure stepped past. Instinctively, she coiled darkness around herself, pressing herself into the shadows and willing herself to go unseen.  
  
Sonya drew up to Genny’s bedside, tenderly laying a hand in her fluffy, rosy hair. Then she turned, and instantly met Shade’s eyes-- and Shade sucked in a breath.  
  
“Easy, sister,” Sonya said wearily. “I’m not here to fight.”  
  
Shade swallowed hard. She clenched her fists, balling up the fabric of her dove-gray gown.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “For what happened. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“I get it,” Sonya muttered, her eyes heavy-lidded. “It wasn’t you. I know the feeling.”  
  
Sonya sighed, ruffling Genny’s hair. Her eyes traced her arm to where she was pointing, and she turned, taking in Yuzu’s slumbering form and the light shining over her heart. Sonya’s expression softened, became gentle, pensive.  
  
“Your daughter?” she wondered, glancing up at Shade.  
  
“My apprentice, technically,” Shade said softly. “But… yeah. As good as.”  
  
A memory flicked across Sonya’s eyes. Yuzu, opening her arms and inviting a daemon into her body. Yuzu, plunging a dagger into her own heart. All to save her beloved Sensei.  
  
“She’s a hell of a girl,” Sonya admitted.  
  
Shade nodded. “So’s yours.”  
  
Sonya smiled, with such genuine and unbidden fondness it made Shade’s heart catch in her chest.  
  
“She is,” Sonya murmured, wistful. “She really, really is.”  
  
Shade started forward, guilt snapping at her heels.  
  
“I’ll make it up to you,” she began, urgent. “And to her. I swear. I’ll have to talk this over with Yuzu whenever she wakes up, but we’ll swear ourselves to her service. I can teach. We can fight--”  
  
“Hey, hey, slow down,” Sonya said, taking Shade by the shoulders. “Let’s not do anything dramatic, here.”  
  
“I want to make it right,” Shade insisted.  
  
“It _is_ right,” Sonya said firmly. “We’re here. You’re here. The fighting’s over. The daemon’s gone. Our girls are safe and sound and sleeping it off. Just… relax, would you? They’re okay. We’re okay. No hard feelings.”  
  
Their eyes met, for just a moment too long. Shade glanced away, biting her lip. Sonya patted her on the shoulder, before turning and striding out of the infirmary.  
  
“Wait,” Shade called.  
  
Sonya stopped in the threshold, glancing back and raising a curious eyebrow.  
  
Shade’s lips twitched into a tentative smile.  
  
“At least let me buy you a drink.”  
  
~*~  
  
_It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve held a quill._ _  
__  
__Sister Silque asks me how it feels to be myself again, and honestly, I don’t know. It’s been six years. I’m not sure I know what ‘myself’ is anymore._ _  
__  
__She’s suggested keeping a diary, to help organize my thoughts. She asks me to start with the little things I remember. To write a list of the things that make me happy._ _  
__  
__I have to start somewhere, I suppose._ _  
__  
__My name is Rinea Heartlily. I’m twenty-nine years old. My favorite color is blue._ _  
__  
__I don’t know what makes me happy._ _  
__  
__Not yet, at least._  
  
~*~  
  
Saber supposed that being a Queensguard came with a few perks.  
  
On the one hand, it meant he got paid to keep an eye on Celica and her friends, which, after the past six years, might as well be ‘getting paid to live his normal life’. It meant having his own room in the castle, having the respect of the castle staff, and getting free drinks at the castle bar. On the other, it meant having to drink with uptight knights and noble fops who couldn’t sing a proper sea shanty if their family fortunes depended on it.  
  
The nightlife here in the Zofian capital didn’t hold a candle to that of Novis Greatport, that was for sure. But tonight, at least, that worked out nicely for Saber. Tonight, he wasn’t exactly in a sea shanty mood.  
  
He kept the parchment in a little pocket sewn into the back of his eyepatch. Unless you’d been drinking with him, you’d never know he’d had it-- a little slip of paper no bigger than his thumb, carefully folded over and kept safe before his bad eye. On it, there was a painting of a girl, all in white and with fire-red hair. She clutched a gardening trowel like a dagger to her chest, smiling brighter than the sun.  
  
An age-old hurt tugged at Saber’s chest, and pricked the corner of his good eye. He sighed, and poured himself two shots of whiskey from the bottle on the counter. He knocked back one of them, and set the empty glass upside down on the counter, leaving its partner untouched.  
  
He carefully folded the parchment over, and slipped it back into his eyepatch-- his constant reminder that he can’t keep an eye on everyone, when he only has one good eye to spare.  
  
“Hey, sailor. You started early?”  
  
Saber looked up, slipping on a smile.  
  
“Hey, princess,” Saber grinned, raising his bottle in salute. “Park it here, I saved you a seat.”  
  
“‘Princess’?” Shade wondered, peeking over Sonya’s shoulder. “Is there something you ought to tell me?”  
  
Saber glowered. “...What’s _she_ doing here?”  
  
Shade withered under Saber’s glare. Sonya caught her by the hand, standing her ground.  
  
“Easy, tiger,” Sonya said carefully. “The past few days have been just as stressful for Miss Shade here as it’s been for us. She kindly offered to buy _us_ a drink,” Sonya muttered, meeting Shade’s eyes. “Is that alright with you?”  
  
Saber watched Shade with a wary, narrowed eye. He slowly reached beside him and rapped his knuckles on the counter. Three more shot glasses slid down into his grasp.  
  
“Well, I have a perfectly good bottle of whiskey right here, which I got for free as one of the Queen’s finest,” Saber began. He poured three shots, pointedly not touching the original pair he’d set on the counter, one full and one empty.  
  
“I’m not sure how I feel about you just yet,” Saber said, nodding to the two stools beside him. “Come here, missy. Let’s get through this bottle and see how I feel about you after that.”  
  
~*~  
  
Nighttime in the castle infirmary, and Silque wasn’t having quite as wild a night as her elders. She was pacing the cool stone steps, blowing out the lamps on her patient’s nightstands.  
  
Yuzu and Genny weren’t the only ones to return, battered and bloody, from the Dragonflight’s foray into the forest. One of Tobin’s rangers was nursing a concussion after a magicked nettle vine had thrown him into a tree. Tobin himself had his arms and chest shredded by a nettle vine in retaliation for a little trick he’d pulled with some flaming arrows. Silque had wrapped him from the waist-up in an almost comical amount of gauze. He’d thanked Silque profusely for treating him, and proceeded to claim that he was well enough to spend the night in his own quarters, ‘King’s orders’. Silque just shook her head fondly as Gray dragged him off by the hand.  
  
She paused, lingering by Rinea’s bedside, studying her in the flickering firelight. The lamp cast harsh shadows across Rinea’s face, highlighting her thin, gaunt features. As Silque blew out the lamp, the moon cast Rinea in an entirely different light; pale and dreamlike, the fragile serenity of slumber. Silque set the lamp back on its stand and blew out a sigh, her eyes lingering on Rinea’s sleeping form. Softly, reverently, she pulled the covers up to Rinea’s chin. Rinea murmured at her touch, but was still.  
  
“Lovely night, isn’t it?”  
  
Silque turned at the voice, her weary eyes lighting up.  
  
“With you? Always.”  
  
Celica smiled, dazzling in the moonlight. She dragged two chairs up to the window, sat in one, and gave the other an expectant pat. Silque sank into it with a grateful sigh, reaching down and massaging her aching calves.  
  
“Oh, Mila. It feels like it’s been ages since I just sat down…” Silque groaned, leaning back against the wall. She opened one eye and peered down at the basket at Celica’s feet. “What’s that?”  
  
Celica flashed her a devious grin as she reached into the basket and retrieved a bottle and two glasses, swaddled in cloth.  
  
“I got you a little gift. Gods know you deserve it,” Celica beamed. “Care to join me for a nightcap, Sister?”  
  
Silque tittered, a hand over her mouth. “You’re too kind, Your Majesty.”  
  
“Don’t you start,” Celica chided, pouring them both a glass. “I’ll always be Celica to you.”  
  
“To you, then, Celica,” Silque smiled. She tipped her glass against Celica’s with a tink, and drained half her glass in a single, long swallow. Celica sputtered and almost spat out her wine, beset by a very un-royal giggle fit.  
  
“I forgot just how much you can drink,” Celica teased.  
  
“ _I_ forgot that you’re old enough to drink at all,” Silque mused, leaning on Celica’s shoulder. “Not to mention how _tall_ you’ve gotten.”  
  
Celica murmured, content, nuzzling against Silque’s cheek. She lay her hand, palm up, on Silque’s knee, and Silque took it with a fond squeeze.  
  
“I missed this,” Celica cooed. “I missed you.”  
  
“I missed you, too,” Silque said softly, twining their fingers together. “It’s been far, far too long. You’re a Queen now, for starters.”  
  
“I’m still me,” Celica insisted. “And you’re still you, working yourself to the bone every day. You need to take care of yourself, Silque. If you don’t, then who will?”  
  
Silque snorted. “I could say the same thing to you.”  
  
“Please. I have a castle full of people who take care of me,” Celica scoffed. She took another sip of wine, nudging Silque with her elbow. “Who’s going to take care of you, huh?”  
  
“ _Tell me_ you didn’t bring me this bottle just so you could badger me into finding a date.”  
  
“Take a break, at least,” Celica urged, rolling her eyes. “Take some time off for yourself.”  
  
Silque gestured to the infirmary around her, her wine sloshing in her glass.  
  
“The work waits,” she said with a shrug. Celica gave her a look.  
  
“...I’m the Queen, you know,” Celica said with a smirk. “I can _make_ you take a break.”  
  
“You can’t order me around, Sister,” Silque teased. “I’m the oldest, after all.”  
  
Celica playfully bonked her forehead against Silque’s. Silque swatted her away, indignant, taking another draw of her wine.  
  
“It’s nice to have everyone together again, isn’t it?” Celica wondered.  
  
“It is,” Silque nodded. “Mae, Boey. Genny. ...Faye.”  
  
A somber quiet descended, lingering just a little too long. Celica pursed her lips and looked away, swirling her wine around in her glass. Silque glanced at the floor, clearing her throat.  
  
“Seriously,” Celica murmured. She squeezed Silque’s hand, meeting her eyes. “Do it for me, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Silque whispered. She leaned her head against Celica’s. “...But only if you promise to take some time for yourself, too.”  
  
Celica giggled. “Deal.”  
  
They sat together for a long while, talking together, enjoying each other’s company after a long day. When it was time to say good night, Celica drew Silque into a tight embrace. Admittedly, they clung together partially to stay upright, waiting for the room to stop swaying. But they lingered in each other’s arms for a long, blissfully warm moment, only parting after Silque had drawn Celica close and kissed a final blessing into her scalp, her brow, and the tip of her nose.  
  
Rinea watched them through a heavy-lidded eye. Seeing such warmth, such open, unabashed affection, twisted something inside her chest, some old, hollow ache. And when Silque and Celica had both retreated to their quarters for the night, Rinea stopped pretending she was asleep. She pulled open the drawer in her nightstand, spread her journal out on her lap. And, under the pale moonlight, thoughts spinning her head, she began to write.  
  
~*~  
  
_Time passes strangely in this place. Or maybe it’s just me._ _  
__  
__I’m not sleeping the day away, anymore, so that’s something. But my mind wanders, as if adrift. Entire conversations, entire evenings, entire days, gone. Lost in the fog._ _  
__  
__Sister Silque thinks having a routine can help pin my thoughts in place. She keeps encouraging me to write down my thoughts, anything I can remember, just so I won’t lose it again. But when I think of the life I had before all this…_ _  
__  
__I don’t know. Maybe some things aren’t worth remembering._ _  
__  
__Courtly life in Rigel flits behind my eyes, slipping like sand through my fingers. Memory can be so fickle, so strange. If anything, my little daily check-ins with Sister SIlque have more brightness, more clarity, than years of politics and prim, proper smiles._ _  
__  
__In these dreamlike weeks, Sister Silque has been my anchor. My light._ _  
__  
__She truly is a remarkable woman..._  
  
~*~  
  
“Lady Rinea? Excuse me, Lady Rinea?”  
  
A voice lured Rinea out of her daydreaming, the world around her resolving out of smudged watercolor back into shapes, shadows, and stark sunlight. A young man, robed in green, stood at her bedside. She saw nut-brown skin, chestnut eyes, a handsome, chiseled jaw, and a shock of hair, prematurely white.  
  
It took her a moment to put a name to the face, and a moment longer to stifle the strange, fluttering disappointment that it wasn’t Sister Silque she was waking up to.  
  
“Sage Boey,” Rinea murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Good morning.”  
  
“Good evening, my lady,” Boey nodded.  
  
“Evening, then,” Rinea blinked. “Is...Is it time for dinner already…?”  
  
“Not quite,” Boey chuckled. “I’m here for another session.”  
  
“...Oh,” Rinea said, unable to hide the disappointment and dread in her face. “Is it time again, already?”  
  
Boey quirked his lip in sympathy.  
  
“Yes, my lady. I’m afraid it _is_ that time…”  
  
As it turned out, spending six years possessed and using dark magic to float wreaked havoc on the ability to use one’s legs. Rinea hadn’t walked in years. Which meant, every evening, Sage Boey was the one helping her learn to walk again, one shaky, sweaty step at a time.  
  
“Remember, just like before,” Boey urged, at Rinea’s shoulder while she stood between two parallel wooden railings, propping herself up on her hands so her aching legs didn’t take all her weight. “Push up on the bars, make a circle with your hands, and then come back down. One step at a time.”  
  
Rinea blew out a pained sigh, and took another step. It would be so easy to snap at Boey, to glower at him in frustration. He felt the need to give her this speech every day, after all, as if she weren’t the one struggling, as if she weren’t the one doing all the work while he stood there and lectured her. But in truth, she appreciated the repetition; the routine. It gave her a sense of continuity, made the world feel solid, not just shadows in the fog.  
  
What she _didn’t_ appreciate was how every physical therapy session ended with a fire in her legs, a numbness in her arms, and Rinea herself drenched in sweat on the floor, soaking through her shift.  
  
Rinea grit her teeth, clenching her fists around the magicked wooden rails that Boey had somehow conjured out of Castle Zofia’s stone floors. The parallel bars were dead weight in her numb hands, her blackened fingers a constant reminder of everything she’d lost. Here she was, a Rigelian noblewoman who, once upon a time, might have been empress. Now, she was learning to walk again, like a toddler in the straw.  
  
Rinea shoved her gloom beneath her feet. She grit her teeth, and took another step.  
  
“Didja hear about Saber?” asked a pink-haired girl, draped lazily across the far end of the bars. Mae, Rinea reminded herself. Sister Silque had told her about her.  
  
“What about him?” Boey asked, a watchful eye on Rinea’s feet as he followed close behind.  
  
“ _I_ heard he and Sonya finally hooked up,” Mae announced, grinning.  
  
“‘Finally’? And how long have you been watching them with bated breath?” Boey asked dryly.  
  
“Oh, come on. Like _you_ haven’t thought about it.”  
  
“I think I’d sooner believe Sonya taking Miss Shade to bed.”  
  
Mae gaped. “Wha-- Sonya and Shade? No way.”  
  
“Everybody has somebody, it seems…” Rinea wheezed taking another step.  
  
“Hm. Must be nice,” Mae huffed, blowing an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. She gave Boey a sidelong glance. “Sure wish I had somebody warming _my_ bed…”  
  
“Mae!” Boey hissed. “This is hardly appropriate. Lady Rinea is-- is-- a lady!”  
  
“What does that make _me_ , you dingus?”  
  
“I’m just saying, this is hardly the time…”  
  
“I am curious, I admit,” Rinea murmured. She stopped short, hands clenched tight around the parallel bars, realizing she’d said that out loud. She swallowed, feeling Mae and Boey’s inquisitive eyes boring into her back.  
  
No turning back now. Rinea took another step.  
  
“Many of you seem… quite close,” Rinea murmured, staring down at the physical therapy track ahead of her. “So I was wondering. Say, for instance, Sister Silque. Is she…”  
  
Mae blinked. “Fucking?”  
  
“ _S-Seeing anyone!_ ” Rinea sputtered, while Boey all-but gagged at the thought of Silque having… _relations_.  
  
“ _Ohoho!_ ” Mae crowed. “Why, are you interested?”  
  
“I was just curious!” Rinea huffed, hoping a haughty tone would hide her thundering heart. “She, ah, she and the Queen seem rather cozy with one another…”  
  
“Oh. Ugh. No.” Boey waved the thought away. “We all grew up together, you see. Celica and Silque are like sisters.”  
  
“I remember you saying the same thing about me, before we went and made things _weird_ ,” Mae muttered.  
  
“That-- That’s none of Lady Rinea’s--” Boey huffed. “...Mae, don’t you have anything better to do than sit here and gossip?”  
  
“No,” Mae said bluntly. “Unless Genny says the word and we gotta gear up to go monster hunting, I _don’t_ have anything better to do.”  
  
She held up her fingers, crackling with electricity, her eyes twinkling with mischief.  
  
“But! Maybe I can think of something,” Mae grinned.  
  
“Mae…” Boey warned.  
  
Mae’s hand darted forward and zapped Boey with static electricity. He yelped, indignant.  
  
“ _Mae!_ ” Boey snapped, while Mae pulled back, cackling. After a brief glower, Boey relented, giving in to a chuckle and a warm, weary smile.  
  
Rinea wasn’t laughing. Not at all. She’d frozen in her tracks, the sharpness in Boey’s tone cutting through the fog of memory like a knife. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixed straight ahead. When a hand touched her shoulder, she jumped.  
  
“Lady Rinea?” Boey wondered.  
  
She knew it was Boey behind her. She knew she was in the Zofian capital, not Rigel’s. But her nerves were on fire, and for a moment, just for a moment, she was--  
  
“Lady Rinea,” Boey echoed. “I think that’s enough for today.”  
  
Rinea nodded, mute, feeling like a doll in Boey’s hands as he helped her into her wheelchair, his words like cotton in her ears.  
  
“Well done, today. I’ll be back for you tomorrow.”  
  
Boey tapped his staff against the floor, sending a pulse of leaf-green light through the room. The parallel bars, formed of twisted, braided wood, shrank back into the stone floor and disappeared.  
  
Mae hopped off her perch as the magicked wood faded away, her hands on Rinea’s chair.  
  
“I’ll wheel her back,” Mae volunteered, smiling. “Not like I got anywhere to be.”  
  
A moment later, Mae was wheeling Rinea back to the castle infirmary. Rinea waited until they were out of earshot, and then waited a long moment longer for her racing heartbeat to slow down.  
  
“...Are you alright?” Rinea whispered.  
  
“Yeah, why?” Mae wondered.  
  
“He--” Rinea swallowed hard. “He shouted at you.”  
  
“Like he’s never done _that_ before,” Mae chuckled.  
  
She stopped short, halfway back to the infirmary. She blinked, her eyes growing wide.  
  
“...Whoa. Hey,” Mae said, softer and gentler than Rinea had ever heard her. “It isn’t like that, okay? I’m fine. We’re fine. We get a little heated, sometimes, but it’s all in good fun.”  
  
Rinea nodded, slowly. “So… you, and Sage Boey…?”  
  
“It’s… complicated,” Mae grimaced. “But I care about him, I do. And he cares about me. He would never hurt me. We can argue, but… I mean, come on. We can handle a little disagreement. If you’ve gotta walk on eggshells all the time, then what kind of relationship do you really have?”  
  
Rinea nodded again, mute. Mae carefully placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Hey. For what it’s worth, I think you’re alright,” Mae said gently. “You should speak up, y’know. Talk to us. I know everybody in this castle, and you know what? They’re all pretty cool.”  
  
“...He didn’t-- I mean--” Rinea wrung her hands, her voice suddenly very small. “...I’m… I’m not used to talking this much.”  
  
Mae winced. She let out a haggard breath, and patted Rinea on the shoulder.  
  
“Well, get used to it, sister,” Mae said, offering her a smile. “Because I _never_ shut up.”  
  
~*~  
  
The days went by, with Rinea slowly remembering more and more of them as they passed. She spent more time awake, aware, focused. Less sleeping. Less sitting in her hospital bed, lost in herself. More fresh air. More socializing, however slow. And, to her endless chagrin, more and more time on the parallel bars to regain the use of her aching legs.  
  
Daily physical therapy was something that had seared itself into Rinea’s memory. She had mixed feelings about it, all told. She was coming to look forward to seeing Boey and Mae every afternoon, even chatting with them, though Mae would always be chattier by half than Rinea could ever be. But going to physical therapy meant slowly regaining the feeling in her legs. Between numb, dead weight, and a constant, burning ache, Rinea still wasn’t sure which she preferred.  
  
But it was part of her routine now, for good or ill. Something consistent, solid, reliable.  
  
Not unlike someone else Rinea knew.  
  
“Hey, you,” Rinea cooed.  
  
“Hey, you,” Silque murmured, sinking into her familiar place at Rinea’s bedside. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Oh, you know,” Rinea said, lifting up her journal and quill on her lap. “Remembering.”  
  
“Anything in particular?” Silque wondered.  
  
“A bit of advice, from Mae,” Rinea murmured, her quill scratching away. “To try getting out more. Talking more.”  
  
Silque smiled wryly. “So… you’re… writing in your journal, instead?”  
  
“Well, I have to keep working on my list, you know,” Rinea teased. “The one you told me to write. A list of the things that make me happy.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Well…” Rinea murmured, warmth flicking across her cheeks. “I think talking can be quite nice. If it’s with the right people.”  
  
Silque reached out, touching Rinea’s supposedly numb fingers and warming her to her core in an instant. She stood, patting the back of Rinea’s wheelchair, beside her.  
  
“Come on,” Silque said with a gentle smile. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”  
  
~*~  
  
In the weeks after Shade and Yuzu’s incident in the woods, the Dragonflight’s operations had become strangely quiet. Sure, they were receiving daily missives of Terror sightings around Valentia. But these were small threats only-- lesser Terrors, mindless revenants and gargoyles, nothing that a sortie of Tobin’s rangers, Gray’s commandos, or Clair’s pegasus knights couldn’t handle alone. Genny blessed their weapons and sent them on their way, leaving the rest of the Dragonflight to languish at Castle Zofia and savor this lull between battles.  
  
Of course, some people had no intention of letting their skills falter in the interim. As Silque wheeled Rinea out into the castle courtyard, she saw the light glinting off of Yuzu’s blade as she cut through the air, diligently practicing sword forms. Under the blazing Zofian sun, she’d set aside her striking violet coat and was stripped to the waist save for the wrappings around her chest, her toned, lean figure glistening with sweat. At her side, but wisely out of sword range, was Sister Genny, her pink habit, edged in purple, fluttering in the breeze.  
  
Everybody had somebody, Rinea supposed. Even this earnest, hardened swordswoman and the gentle, rose-haired cleric. They laughed together, exchanging fond smiles.  
  
They made a striking pair, Rinea thought. The slayer and the saint.  
  
But they still weren’t quite so striking as Faye, further down the training field, bow in hand. She cut a striking figure, gleaming gold in the sunlight, her earthy-brown cloak flitting in the wind. She nocked an arrow, drew it back to her cheek, and let it fly.  
  
Her shot whistled across the field and punched into her target dead center.  
  
Faye nocked and fired four more arrows in quick succession, with trained, practiced grace. They whipped across the courtyard and thudded into her target. A perfect bullseye, every time.  
  
“You’re working too hard,” Silque said, teasing.  
  
Faye glanced her way with a cocksure grin, another arrow already drawn to her cheek. She loosed her arrow, her aim unwavering. Another perfect bullseye, without even looking.  
  
“So are you,” Faye smiled. “You still haven’t taken a break? You’d better get some rest soon, or I might have to do something drastic.”  
  
“Oh yes? Like what?”  
  
“Tie you to your bed, maybe.”  
  
“At least buy me a drink first.”  
  
“And here I thought tonight was on you,” Faye laughed. She crossed the practice field, Silque taking her by the hand and pulling her into an embrace. Rinea’s eyes flicked upwards, peering warily at the way Faye’s hand lingered in Silque’s.  
  
“So what are you doing out here?” Faye asked, shooting Silque a look. “Getting some fresh air?”  
  
Silque giggled, warm. “Just enjoying the show.”  
  
Rinea cleared her throat. “You, um… You’re an excellent shot, Miss Faye.”  
  
Faye grinned. “Thanks. Lady Rinea, right? Do you know how to shoot?”  
  
“I can’t say I do,” Rinea admitted, sheepish. “Do the Mila Faithful typically train their priestesses in the bow and arrow?”  
  
A host of feeling passed across Faye’s face in an instant. Thoughts of Mycen, of Alm, of Celica. Years and years of loss and loneliness, princesses and pedestals. Not knowing what she wanted. Not knowing who she wanted to want _her_.  
  
Silque squeezed Faye’s hand. Faye cleared her throat.  
  
“Well, I might’ve trained in the sword, even dabbled in some magic,” Faye began, “but I’m a country girl at heart. I might be a fair hand with a sword, on foot or on horseback. But I’ve always been most at home with a bow in my hand.”  
  
“Occasionally a knife,” Silque chimed in. Faye jabbed an elbow into her ribs.  
  
“You’re a hunter, then?” Rinea asked, impressed, despite herself.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Faye nodded. “Traps, snares, shortbows, you name it, I’m your girl. Pretty good in a garden, too, though that’s not nearly as exciting…”  
  
“Oh!” Rinea gasped, her eyes lighting up. “I used to love gardening! I used to keep a little plot of lilies back at home. Blue and white, my favorite colors. Though it’s rare to see them this far south. What did you grow?”  
  
“Oh, well, turnips, mostly,” Faye said, sheepish. “Vegetables. Boring stuff. Not really a whole lot of flowers.”  
  
“Oh, it’s not boring at all!” Rinea practically chirped. “There’s nothing like the feeling of coaxing life from the earth, putting in a little bit of work every day and then finally seeing it bloom. I know I don’t look it, but sometimes I would just take off my boots, and wiggle my toes in the soil. Is that odd?”  
  
“No, no!” Faye urged. “I totally get that! Doesn’t it feel great?”  
  
And just like that, Rinea had become more talkative than she’d ever been-- as if she’d simply needed to be asked about the right subject. The minutes melted away as Faye and Rinea chatted, sharing stories about life down in Ram and up north in Rigel, about how Zofia’s more pronounced seasons made for a wider variety of crops year-round, about which flowers in Rigel waited all year to bloom only in the summer, and which ones weathered the cold regardless. And through it all, Silque listened, only chiming in occasionally, letting Rinea find her own voice. But every so often, their eyes would meet, and Silque would smile, and a warmth would bloom across her cheeks as surely as a Rigelian star lily on the first day of spring.  
  
~*~  
  
“So! What do you think?”  
  
Rinea scanned the room, taking in the crowds of soldiers, courtiers, and castle staff filling the royal tavern, shrinking away from the wall of noise pressing in around her. Men, even loud men, were things she could grit her teeth and tolerate. But looking at the woman sitting beside her, smiling bright through the din? That was puzzling, more than anything.  
  
“It’s nice,” Rinea said, putting on a polite smile. “It’s a little… loud.”  
  
“I know,” Celica smiled in sympathy, reaching out and patting Rinea’s arm. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Something about the way Celica said those words made Rinea know, at once, that she was a cleric before she was a Queen. Perhaps hearing it said, in Silque’s melodious voice, every morning and every night, made it so Rinea knew nurse-speak when she heard it.  
  
“Better,” Rinea said, and it was the truth, in more ways than she could say.  
  
“That’s good,” Celica grinned, squeezing her arm. “You’ve been working hard, these past few weeks. Silque tells me you’re just about ready to get up on your feet again. You won’t be stuck in the castle infirmary much longer. Have you thought about where you would like to go from here?”  
  
Rinea worried at her lip with her teeth. She _had_ thought about that. What it would mean when she left. What she’d be leaving behind.  
  
“I’m… not sure,” Rinea said slowly. “It’s been six years. I can’t just go back to the Rigelian royal court as if I’d never left. The world has changed.”  
  
Rinea glanced down at her blackened fingers, fidgeting on the tabletop.  
  
“...I have changed,” Rinea whispered.  
  
“You would be welcome here, with us,” Celica said gently. “If that’s what you wanted. You could stay here, enter my court. I assure you, you’d be well taken care of.”  
  
Rinea’s lips twitched into a smile. “...And be the kept woman to a Queen?”  
  
“N-No!” Red flashed across Celica’s face. “Forgive me, Lady Rinea, that’s not what I-- I didn’t mean to suggest--”  
  
Rinea laughed, despite everything. “No, forgive _me_ , Your Majesty. It was only a jest.”  
  
“There’s a growing list of people to whom that thought is no jest…” Celica groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m not here to seduce you with thoughts of a fine dowry and a gilded cage, Rinea. The choice is yours, naturally, whether to go, or to stay. The Dragonflight will support your decision, whichever you choose.”  
  
Rinea nodded, somber.  
  
“...I need… time,” she said, softly. “And, perhaps, a drink.”  
  
“Now _that_ can be arranged,” Celica said, a mirthful smile on her lips. As if on cue, a server appeared at their table and set down a clear bottle and a pair of shot glasses. Celica presented them with a flourish, Rinea raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Is that…”  
  
“Imported, yes,” Celica grinned. “Authentic Rigelian vodka. A bit of a rarity this far south, admittedly, but you’re going to be discharged soon-- I thought it only fitting that we celebrate with a little taste of home.”  
  
Rinea wasn’t quite sure if Rigel _was_ home anymore, but the sentiment was so sweet she couldn’t bear to ruin it. She uncorked the bottle and poured them both a glass, raising her glass in a toast.  
  
“To us, then.”  
  
“To _you_ ,” Celica smiled.  
  
They slugged the shots down. Both of them seized, making faces, two poised noblewomen abruptly laid low by unexpectedly potent liquor.  
  
“...Oh…” Celica grimaced, forcing a polite smile. “...that… sure is… the good stuff…”  
  
“No need to be polite, Your Majesty,” Rinea winced, her glass thunking onto the table. “I, um. I don’t believe this vodka is as authentic as it claims…”  
  
“This is so unseemly,” Celica groaned. “A queen, snared by a tourist trap…”  
  
Rinea snorted, before immediately clapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Celica met her guilty eyes, before cracking up herself, and soon, the two of them were laughing, merry.  
  
“Perhaps some wine, instead?” Rinea suggested, filled with unexpected mirth.  
  
“That sounds _lovely_ ,” Celica drawled, smiling like mad.  
  
They laughed together like they were girls again, when the world was simpler and lighter without a crown. And, a few tables back, like a faithful Queensguard, Saber kept an eye on Celica, wondering at his remarkable good fortune. He was, at least tonight, getting _paid_ to go to the pub.  
  
Saber glanced up as a pair of familiar faces appeared at the door. He grinned, raising his tankard of ale.  
  
“Hey, princess! Hey, missy!”  
  
“Hey, sailor,” Shade and Sonya purred, giggling.  
  
“What’s got you two so smiley? You start drinking without me?” Saber grinned.  
  
“You’re one to talk,” Shade mused.  
  
“Yeah, I s’pose,” Saber grinned, taking another swig of his ale. He slapped a meaty palm against the chairs beside him. “C’mon, we doin’ this or what? I saved us a table and everything.”  
  
“Sorry, big guy,” Sonya cooed. “Not tonight.”  
  
“‘Not tonight’? Whaddaya mean, ‘not tonight’?”  
  
“Girls’ night,” Sonya winked. She snaked an arm around Shade’s waist, Shade squealing and giggling, playful, as her hand veered a little lower than usual. “No boys allowed.”  
  
Saber chuckled, and shook his head. “Well, if you put it like that…”  
  
Sonya took Shade’s hand with a squeeze and tugged her towards the stairwell. They glanced back across the floor to see Saber, raising his ale in salute.  
  
“Hey!” Saber called. “Lemme ask you somethin’ real quick!”  
  
“What is it?” Sonya called back, grinning.  
  
“If _you’re_ here, and _I’m_ here, then who’s watching the kids?”  
  
“Knowing her?” Sonya laughed. “Sister Silque!”  
  
Saber chuckled, watching the two women disappear up the stairs and taking another long swig of ale.  
  
“Yeah… yeah, that _does_ sound like her…”  
  
~*~  
  
Silque walked down a windowed hall of Castle Zofia, alternating between the warm light of lamps in wall sconces and the pale gleam of moonlight. She reached up and tucked a stray hair under her headdress, cupping a hand over her mouth as she stifled a yawn. She turned the corner, stepped into the infirmary--  
  
\--and stopped in her tracks.  
  
“You’re working too hard.”  
  
She scanned the infirmary, empty save for one figure in a chair in the corner-- Faye, a cloak laid out on her lap, sewing by lamplight. Faye nodded to the seat beside her without looking up from her work. Silque lingered beside her chair, still standing, blinking in confusion as she scanned the room.  
  
“Faye,” Silque said, puzzled. “Where are my patients?”  
  
“Well, Yuzu’s down in the courtyard, practicing sword swings, and Genny went down to convince her to go get some sleep.”  
  
“And Rinea?”  
  
“Drinking,” Faye smirked. “With Celica, if you can believe that.”  
  
SIlque couldn’t, not quite, but that was neither here nor there.  
  
“...So… no one’s here,” Silque said.  
  
“ _I’m_ here,” Faye said, glancing up and meeting Silque’s eyes. “And for once, you have no more work to do, so do me a favor, sit down, and take a break, already.”  
  
Silque hesitated. “But--”  
  
“Do you need me to get the rope? Because I’ll get the rope.”  
  
Silque relented, sliding down into her chair with a fond smile. She breathed out, long and low, the stress of the past day, the past week, weeks, if she was being honest-- melting out of her bones. She glanced at Faye sidelong, a question in her eyes. Then, gently, she leaned in close and rested her head on Faye’s shoulder.  
  
Faye paused in her knitting, blowing out a sigh.  
  
“...Careful,” she said, wiggling the needle and thread in her lap. “I might stick you.”  
  
“I’ll take the risk,” Silque said, her eyes closed.  
  
She took a deep breath, and sighed.  
  
“...I missed this,” Silque said, in the somber quiet. “I missed you.”  
  
“I know,” Faye whispered. She set her knitting aside, smoothing her dress against her lap. “I didn’t really get a chance to tell you, earlier, when we were camping out on the lake looking for Rinea. But it’s… it’s really nice seeing you again, Silque.”  
  
“...Yeah…” Silque trailed off.  
  
Quiet stretched between them. They sat there for a long moment. Faye, golden in the lamplight. Silque, silver in the moonlight. Shadows and silence in between.  
  
“Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?” Faye asked, breaking the silence. “On your pilgrimage, after the war?”  
  
Silque swallowed hard, looking away. “Would you have come with me, if I did?”  
  
Faye wanted to say yes. She wanted to say she would have dropped everything, left her brother and grandmother and all of Ram Village behind, if it meant being with her.  
  
But Silque was a woman of faith. And Faye couldn’t lie to those eyes.  
  
“I wish...” Faye began, shaking her head. “...I wish we had more time.”  
  
“We have time,” Silque said. Gently. Hopefully. “Don’t we?”  
  
Faye blew out a sigh, glancing away. “...Why did you come back to the capital?”  
  
“Celica,” Silque said. “She had seen Genny off to Fear Mountain, when she and Saber first went searching for Miss Sonya. Celica wrote me, said she wanted me to be here when Genny returned. I couldn’t say no. Would never say no.”  
  
Faye smiled, rueful. “To Celica? Yeah, I can’t imagine you would.”  
  
Silque chuckled. “Well. She is a remarkable woman.”  
  
Silence returned between them. Too long. Too long.  
  
“Do you--” Faye blurted out.  
  
“Of course I do,” Silque said firmly. “She’s my sister.”  
  
Faye swallowed, nodding. Silque exhaled, gently trailing her fingers across Faye’s arm.  
  
“...But that’s not the way _you_ feel about her,” Silque said. “Is it?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Faye said, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.”  
  
Silque blinked. “But… you, and Celica, and Mae and Boey, didn’t you--”  
  
“Mae and I agreed to stop fighting,” Faye explained. “But that’s not a total solution. We’re all still…”  
  
Faye gestured vaguely with her hand.  
  
“...halfway?” Silque offered.  
  
Faye clapped her hand down on her knee, blowing out a sigh. “...Yeah.”  
  
They sat there for a long moment, haloed in moon- and lamplight. Celica, a flame in Faye’s hands. Another blue-haired beauty settling like a ghost on Silque’s shoulders.  
  
Between them, Silque gently curled her hand into Faye’s.  
  
“Would you still be happy with only half of my heart?”  
  
Faye’s heart caught in her throat. She twined her fingers with Silque’s, shuddering.  
  
“Would _you_?”  
  
Silque choked back a sob. Immediately, Faye had her hand to Silque’s cheek, her eyes dark with concern-- but Silque, despite everything, was smiling through her tears.  
  
“Half of your heart is already more than I could ever ask of you,” Silque whispered. “It’s already more than I ever thought I would have. So… yes, Faye. I would treasure having you. Even half of you. But not if it tears you in two.”  
  
Faye swallowed hard, her heart aching with affection. Even now, Silque was so…  
  
“...We’d have to talk about it,” she said at last. “All of us, I mean. We’d have to… figure it out.”  
  
“Oh, Faye…” Silque cooed. “Be honest. Would _you_ be happy with only half of me?”  
  
“Honestly…?” Faye took a deep breath, let it out slow. “I… I don’t know.”  
  
SIlque nodded. “...I understand.”  
  
“Hey,” Faye said, squeezing Silque’s hand. “I’ll let you know. Deal?”  
  
Silque dabbed at her eyes, smiling.  
  
“Deal.”  
  
~*~  
  
Genny trudged up the stairs to her quarters, her staff tapping against the cool stone. Her limbs ached. Yuzu, in true Yuzu fashion, had convinced her to begin a training regimen. If tending the spirit nurtured the body around it, then surely that applied in reverse.  
  
That was the theory. But in practice, it just left Genny with an ache in her limbs, the burning desire to sleep for a thousand years, and a sneaking suspicion that Yuzu’s sword forms didn’t transfer quite as well to staff combat as she would have hoped.  
  
Genny was glad to have her, though. Yuzu was a friend. Perhaps even a sister. And it certainly didn’t hurt that their mothers were more than getting along.  
  
“Everybody has somebody,” Genny murmured to herself, as she pushed open her door.  
  
She squeaked in surprise.  
  
“Celica?” Genny blinked. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”  
  
Celica snorted, playful. “Goodness, if I had a piece of silver--”  
  
“ _Stop_ ,” Genny giggled. She walked into that one, admittedly. The Dragonflight had been founded for two months, and she still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around having an ‘office’. “What are you doing?”  
  
Celica shrugged, turning back to the letter she was writing. “Just trying to get a little more work done before calling it a night.”  
  
Genny walked up to her desk, glancing from the towering pile of missives on one side, the stamped and sealed outgoing letters on the other. She made a face.  
  
Celica felt her peering over her shoulder, and glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. “...What?”  
  
“Celica,” Genny began, blinking. “Have you been answering _all_ my missives?”  
  
“Maybe,” Celica winked.  
  
“ _Celica!_ ” Genny wailed. “I told you, you don’t have to be my secretary!”  
  
“You almost died!” Celica rolled her eyes. “I thought you could use some time to relax, instead of having to spend all day at a desk. These are all relatively tame Terror sightings, anyhow. Nothing that I can’t send Tobin, or Gray, or Clair to handle. Trust me, if the Dragonflight needed to muster, I wouldn’t do it without asking you.”  
  
“That’s not the point!” Genny huffed. “Celica, _you_ deserve some rest, too!”  
  
Celica shrugged. “There’s always work to be done.”  
  
“Oooh!” Genny stamped her foot in frustration. “For a goddess of pleasure, Mila’s clerics sure are a bunch of workaholics! You, and- and Silque--”  
  
“And you?” Celica added dryly.  
  
Genny pouted. Celica giggled.  
  
“...Celica, _please_ go to bed,” Genny sighed. “Take mine, if you have to. It’s too big for me, anyway.”  
  
“Just let me finish this letter.”  
  
“Celica…!” Genny whined.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Celica relented, setting her quill aside. “Maybe I _could_ use a break…”  
  
They strolled down the castle corridors, arm in arm, Celica’s presence soothing away the ache in Genny’s bones. They settled onto a balcony overlooking the castle courtyard, haloed by the moon. Genny closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the breeze curling through her hair, while Celica lingered just behind, quiet, pensive.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Celica asked.  
  
“Oh, you know…” Genny began, wistful. “How nice it is to see everyone from the priory again. Silque. Boey, Mae. You. You know, I’ve always looked up to you, Celica. I’m still not used to this whole sainthood thing. Sometimes I wonder if _you_ should be leading the Dragonflight, instead.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Celica said. She laid a fond hand in Genny’s hair, drew her close. “They didn’t come here for _me_. They came for you.”  
  
“Well, some of them are definitely _staying_ for you,” Genny giggled. “Mae, Boey. Faye…”  
  
Celica’s expression clouded. “...well… that’s…”  
  
“Gods, Celica, I wish I had so many people fighting over _me_.”  
  
“Everyone says that, until they literally start fighting,” Celica grumbled.  
  
“Well, you talked about that, right? You figured it out?”  
  
Celica exhaled through her nose. “...Sort of.”  
  
Genny blinked at that, but said nothing. A shadow fell across Celica’s eyes. She sighed.  
  
“...Genny, this can’t last.”  
  
Genny looked up sharply. “What-- What are you talking about?”  
  
“I know how Mae feels about me,” Celica said. “Boey and Faye are more complicated, but it’s there, and there’s no denying it. We’re here together, now, because we support the Dragonflight, and we support you, Genny. I appreciate us all being together, for the moment. I enjoy their company. Mae and Faye are even starting to get along. There’s peace between us. But there can’t be any more.”  
  
Genny faltered. “Why not?”  
  
Celica groaned. “...I’m a Queen, Genny. I’m a busy woman, even at the best of times. And… I have a husband, Genny. So… no matter what else happens… when this is over, I’ll go back to Alm. And we’ll all go our separate ways.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Genny protested. “Why can’t you be together?”  
  
“And give myself to four different people? I only have the one heart, Gen.”  
  
“Hearts aren’t pies to be cut into pieces,” Genny urged. “They’re like a hearth. Plenty of people can sit around a fire, and they’ll all get warm.”  
  
Celica blinked. “What are you saying?”  
  
“I’m saying you don’t have to choose. You can have all of them.”  
  
Celica’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tight. “...You’re saying I become like my father.”  
  
Genny balked. “N-No, that’s not what I--”  
  
“My father kept a villa full of people he treated like _playthings_ ,” Celica seethed, her hands clenched into fists. “You’re asking me to become just like that _vile_ \--”  
  
“No, Celica! Listen to me!” Genny pleaded. “Listen! You care about Alm, don’t you?”  
  
Celica groaned. “...He’s a dear friend, and we work well together, but he’s not--”  
  
“And you love Mae, right?”  
  
“Yes, of course, but--”  
  
“Do you love Boey? Do you love Faye?”  
  
“Yes, Genny! But it’s not that simple!”  
  
“Why not?” Genny demanded. “ _Why can’t love be enough?_ ”  
  
Celica hesitated, taken aback by the conviction in Genny’s eyes. She shrank away, glancing down at the floor, her shoulders sagging with the weight of the world.  
  
“...That’s not the world we live in, Gen,” Celica whispered. “We can’t all be together. It doesn’t matter what I want.”  
  
“We’re all together right now,” Genny shrugged. “It seems to be working just fine.”  
  
“That’s not the same,” Celica groaned. “Come on, Genny. What did you think would happen? That all your friends would live together in a castle, go on adventures together, and be together forever?”  
  
“Yes!” Genny cried. “Is that so hard to imagine?”  
  
Celica sighed. She raised her hand, opened her mouth as if to say something. She sagged, defeated, shaking her head.  
  
“...it’s not that simple,” Celica whispered. “I’m sorry, Gen.”  
  
“It can be,” Genny said gently. “If you believe.”  
  
Celica nodded, mute. Genny bit her lip, glancing up at the moon.  
  
“...Oh, what do I know about love, anyway?” Genny mused. “There was only one person who held my heart. And I couldn’t keep them from going across the sea.”  
  
Genny sighed. She leaned forward on the balcony rail, cradling her head on her crossed arms.  
  
“Maybe I’m naive to think love can keep people together forever,” Genny murmured. “I guess that’s why I’m just a cleric, and you’re the queen.”  
  
“Sometimes, love isn’t enough,” Celica said gently.  
  
Genny nodded. She rose, turning and meeting Celica’s eyes.  
  
“But sometimes it is?”  
  
Celica smiled, despite everything.  
  
“...Yeah. Sometimes, it is.”  
  
Genny stepped forward, and Celica pulled her into an embrace, trailing her fingers through Genny’s fluffy, rosy hair. Genny bowed her head, and Celica kissed her, in her hair, on her brow, and on the tip of her nose-- the same blessing Silque used to give them every night on Novis, as she tucked them into bed.  
  
~*~  
  
_Today’s the day._ _  
__  
__Honestly, not much is going to change. I’ll still be here. I’ll still have to go to physical therapy._ _  
__  
__Sister Silque tells me that I’ll be free to go wherever I wish. But where else would I go?_ _  
__  
__There’s still time. Time to figure out where I want to go, what I want to be._ _  
__  
__After today, I’ll have all the time in the world._ _  
__  
__I’m still working on that list, on the very first page of this book. The list of the things that make me happy. It hasn’t grown every much, admittedly. The color blue. Gardening. Dancing. Tea._ _  
__  
__But there’s someone who’s always been at the top of my list._ _  
__  
__I need to tell her, before I go._  
  
~*~  
  
“Good evening, Rinea.”  
  
Rinea looked up, setting her quill aside.  
  
“Faye,” Rinea nodded. She smiled, fighting a blush. “...Sister.”  
  
“This is it,” Silque murmured, smiling that serene smile that nonetheless made Rinea’s heart flutter. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Ready,” Rinea said. “To get back into the world.”  
  
“It’s your last night in my care,” Silque said. “I wanted to get you something. And while I’m a fair hand at sewing up wounds, Faye’s always been better than I at sewing up fabric.”  
  
“And, no offense, but I don’t really think white is your color,” Faye chimed in. Silque chidingly patted her hand.  
  
“Here, Rinea,” Silque said, lifting the bundle in her arms. “This is for you.”  
  
Rinea shook out the bundle. A sea of fabric in deep, midnight blue fell across her lap, a dress with matching capelet, edged in starry white-- loose and airy, better suited for Zofia’s heat than a Rigelian winter.  
  
“Oh!” Rinea gasped, beaming. “It’s… it’s beautiful…”  
  
“It’s yours,” Silque cooed.  
  
“I-- I got you something too,” Rinea said, carefully setting her dress aside. She rose from her hospital bed on unsteady feet-- but getting steadier every day-- and crossed over to the window. On a metalwork rail beneath the windowsill hung a pair of planters. She pulled one up by its chain, carefully taking the little flowerpot in her hands.  
  
“Faye got me the planters,” Rinea explained, “and the Queen managed to find me the seeds-- but this, Sister Silque. This is for you.”  
  
Silque gently cradled the flowerpot in her hands. Rising from the soil was a leafy green stalk and a single, perfect blossom-- five petals unfurling in a star, white speckled with sky blue.  
  
Apparently, a Rigelian star lily could bloom this far south, after all.  
  
Silque gasped, her eyes wet. She took Rinea by the shoulder and drew her close, whispering.  
  
“May Mila bless you and keep you,” Silque intoned. She leaned up, offering Rinea one last benediction. She pressed a kiss to Rinea’s hair. One to her brow.  
  
And as she leaned in to give her one last peck on the tip of her nose, Rinea tipped her head up and stole a kiss.  
  
Silque froze, her heart lodging in her throat. And as they parted, Rinea drawing her lips away with the gentlest of sighs, Rinea whispered.  
  
“Thank you, Sister Silque. For everything.”  
  
Silque stood there, stunned, staring. Rinea met her eyes for one smoky moment before glancing away, embarrassed, clasping her hands shyly behind her back.  
  
A staff knocked three times against the doorframe.  
  
“I hate to interrupt,” Boey said, oblivious. “But it’s time for physical therapy, Lady Rinea.”  
  
“Coming~” Rinea sang. She practically skipped away into the hall. Boey raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, following at her heels.  
  
Silque watched her go, her heart pounding in her chest, gently raising her fingers to her lips as if wondering if this were all a dream.  
  
At least, until she saw Faye standing beside her with the most insufferable grin she’d ever seen.  
  
Silque huffed, shoving her away with a weary fondness.  
  
“Not a _word_ …”  
  
~*~  
  
_In the darkness, light._ _  
__  
__She curls up at the campfire after a long day of fighting, exhausted down to her bones. In the distance, inhuman chittering gnaws at the edges of her senses. She shivers, and scoots closer to the campfire, hugging her knees around her chest._ _  
__  
__Even in this accursed place, there is light, and there is warmth. The Exalt’s staff, planted like a tree in the center of their campsite, projects a dome of golden light that keeps the monsters at bay. The Halo, they call it. The light of her ancestor, the Saint, now held in her capable hands._ _  
__  
__Her eyes flit across the mission team, huddled together in the Halo’s glow, a single bright star in the vast, lonely dark. She watches as the Exalt passes beacon duty off to her second, an earnest young redhead in white and seafoam green. He whispers an invocation, and the flickering light flares up to its previous brightness. A girl lingers at his side, flipping through a tome and bombarding him with trivia, despite the late hour. He just shakes his head with a weary fondness, and smiles._ _  
__  
__Across the campfire, a young blonde sits on her partner’s lap, the two of them shrouded in an olive green cloak. She leans into her, murmuring, her eyes drowsy and heavy-lidded, as the other girl sets her bow aside and massages away the ache of armor straps lingering in her partner’s shoulders._ _  
__  
__A woman with a mane of dark hair and a spear at her shoulder is waiting beside the campfire. The Exalt takes her hand with a fond squeeze, leaning in and pecking her on the cheek, while another woman in red and gold presses a teacup into her hands. They press their heads together, murmuring sweetly._ _  
__  
__She feels a flush creep along her cheeks and pulls her eyes away. She hugs her knees tighter to her chest, blowing out a sigh._ _  
__  
__Everybody has somebody. The Exalt even has two…_ _  
__  
__Just when the tingling in her chest starts to become an ache, she hears a tome snap shut beside her. She turns, and sees the scholar’s stormy gray eyes, glinting in the darkness of his hood, gazing through her, into her, catching her heart like a fishhook._ _  
__  
__“_ ** _You don’t belong here_** _,” he says, and the lights go--_  
  
~*~  
  
\--out.  
  
Genny woke with a gasp, shadows dancing on the edge of her eyes. She sat up, blinking the phantoms from her eyes. Gray shores. A monochrome forest. A woman in black…  
  
Genny sighed. She pulled a robe on over her nightgown, and began to walk.  
  
Genny found herself, once again, at the balcony overlooking the castle courtyard. It was a lovely view, all told. The sky, deep and dark in the pre-dawn light, still cut through with traces of silver, the last few stars still twinkling in the morning sky.  
  
“You’re up early.”  
  
Genny squeaked in surprise, whirling at the voice. Rinea jumped.  
  
“My-- My apologies,” Rinea said quickly. Her dress caught the starlight, making her look like an angel-- or a ghost.  
  
“N-No, it’s alright…” Genny murmured, sheepish.  
  
Rinea nodded. “Having trouble sleeping?”  
  
Genny blew out a sigh. “Strange dreams.”  
  
“May I join you?” Rinea wondered.  
  
Genny nodded, and stepped out onto the balcony, Rinea close behind. They made a striking pair-- Genny, in the colors of sunrise, pink and gold. Rinea, in deep, midnight blue.  
  
“...These past few weeks have given me plenty of time to think,” Genny mused, apropos of nothing.  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Love, mostly.”  
  
Rinea smiled. “Well. Mila was the goddess of love. Among… other things.”  
  
Genny giggled, her cheeks pink. “Well, I haven’t really thought about _that!_ ”  
  
Rinea laughed. She gazed up at the moon, clasping her hands in front of her. She peered at Genny, sidelong.  
  
“...Who was he?”  
  
“She was a knight,” Genny admitted, studying the sky. “We fought together, in the year before the Dragonfall. She’s… gone, now.”  
  
Rinea paled. “Oh, Sister. I’m so sorry…”  
  
Genny blinked. “Huh? O-Oh! No, she’s… she’s still alive! But… she’s far away. An ocean away.”  
  
Genny hung her head. She felt something tugging at her sleeve, turned, and saw Rinea’s hand. Genny smiled, letting Rinea take her hand and smooth her thumb across Genny’s knuckles. Rinea’s fingers were blackened and scarred, but she was so, so warm.  
  
“Tell me about her,” Rinea urged.  
  
Genny’s eyes lit up.  
  
“Where do I even start?” Genny laughed, her lips curling into a dreamlike smile. “She’s so brave, and dashing, and funny, and her smile is like the sun itself. You could fill a book about her. And believe me, I’ve tried…”  
  
They spent a long moment together, out on that balcony, Genny gushing, Rinea listening with a fond smile. And as they talked, the sun peeked above the horizon. Ribbons of pink and orange and gold bloomed across the sky, as if Genny’s voice were breathing life and color back into the world-- but even as the sun rose over Castle Zofia, haloing Rinea in its light, the moon and the stars still clung to the edges of the sky, faint, but still shining. Rinea’s smile wasn’t half as radiant as Genny’s beside her. But, like the stars, it shone nonetheless-- a distant flickering light that had still come so far.  
  
~*~  
  
“Good morning, princess.”  
  
“Yeah? What’s so good about it?”  
  
Saber and Sonya groused and grumbled as they staggered into Castle Zofia’s great hall, both nursing hangovers. Shade led them both by the hand, rolling her eyes with a weary fondness.  
  
“I can’t believe, for all your talk, both of you are just such lightweights when it comes to liquor,” Shade teased.  
  
“Listen, missy,” Saber protested. “When the Queen offers you a mostly-full bottle of authentic Rigelian vodka, you don’t say no.”  
  
“You two are ridiculous,” Shade said.  
  
“You love it,” Sonya smirked.  
  
“I do,” Shade winked.  
  
They settled in at the corner of a long table, heaping their plates with eggs and roasted potatoes. At the head of the hall, Alm and Celica exchanged chaste cheek kisses before parting to their respective tables-- Celica joining Mae and Boey, while Alm settled in beside an already mid-argument Gray, Tobin, and an exasperated Clair.  
  
“Excuse me, everyone!”  
  
Genny tapped her staff against the floor, echoing against the stone. Everyone turned to her, framed in the archway at the hall.  
  
Genny glanced over her shoulder into the hallway behind, flashing her companion a smile. She tapped her staff against the ground again, like a royal herald, calling out across the hall.  
  
“Good morning, everyone! We have a guest this morning. Please give a warm welcome to Lady Rinea!”  
  
Rinea stepped into the light. She smoothed her dress against her legs, midnight-blue edged in white, her capelet fluttering at her elbows. There were a pair of long white gloves tucked into her belt, but Rinea’s hands were bare, her scars plain to see.  
  
Rinea gazed out across a sea of smiling faces and welcoming applause. The King offered her a respectful nod, his men whooping and shouting, rather less subdued. Celica smiled at her, beaming with pride. Mae was cheering. Boey seemed close to tears.  
  
Silque and Faye were waiting for her, saving a space at the table between them. Her journal and quill sat there, ready to record this moment.  
  
But Rinea was in no mood to write. This was something she would never forget.  
  
Genny offered her arm, a brilliant smile on her face.  
  
Rinea strode forward, her head held high.  
  
~*~


	6. Our Lady of the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonflight is gathering strength. But so, too, are their enemies. When they receive word of a ghost ship terrorizing the Zofian coast, the Dragonflight takes to the seas, ready and eager to be hunting worthy foes once again. But there’s something lurking beneath the shadowed waves. And in those waters, there be dragons…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter whose wordcount totally ran away from me. It turns out I just really love writing these characters just talking to each other and having a good time. 
> 
> A month has passed since the previous chapter, and the Dragonflight are starting to test the waters when it comes to their myriad, criss-crossing affections. But, unfortunately, duty calls. I hope you all enjoy the read! ^^

~*~  
  
_Dear Est,_ _  
__  
_~~_Do you remember me? I’m_ _  
__  
__Of course she remembers you, Genny, you just saw her at your exaltation ball…_~~ _  
__  
__Dear Miss Skylark,_ _  
__  
__“ ~~Please, Gen. ‘Miss Skylark’ is my sister.”~~_ ~~ _  
__  
__Come on, Genny, come on…_~~ _  
__  
__Hey Est,_ _  
__  
__It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?_ _  
_  
~*~  
  
Three months since the founding of the Dragonflight. Three would-be witches, taken into their care. And goodness knows how many other lesser Terrors, put to the sword and burned to ashes, never to rise again.  
  
It had been a busy couple of months. But not, Genny suspects, as busy as they could have been. Her initial success with Sonya’s purification had set a lot of things in motion-- her exaltation as a Saint of Mila, the founding of the Dragonflight, the purification of Rinea shortly afterward, and then the incident with Shade and Yuzu just a week after that.  
  
But after that, the Dragonflight’s momentum started to wane. There were still daily Terror sightings, of course, but Celica sent the Knights of Zofia to handle these attacks, requiring little more from Genny than a quick blessing of their weapons before they departed. And though she knew the world was safer for their efforts, Genny couldn’t help feeling a little restless.  
  
Genny sat at her desk, thoughtfully nibbling the end of her quill. Outside her window, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, sending ribbons of pink and gold streaming across the sky. Even with this relative lull between battles, Genny was still up before sunrise. She had been an early riser, back on Novis, and she still was now.  
  
Some habits, Genny just couldn’t shake. Least of all her pink habit, edged in purple, that she continued to wear, even now.  
  
Sure, they tried to dress her up, make her look the part of a Saint. When she first set out to rescue Sonya, Celica had given her a gorgeous new staff-- a crystal starburst with a gleaming orb magically suspended within. Alm had given her the Dracoshield, a priceless artifact-- although, to be fair, she did wind up returning that to the royal treasury when she was done. She wore a rose medallion around her neck that shone with a constant, otherworldly light. And she even had a mantle tailored for her, an impressive upgrade to her old, ratty, traveling cloak. Violet, too, so she could match with her mother.  
  
But underneath all the pomp, ceremony, and fancy clothes, she was just Genny. Still Genny. Still herself. And that, unfortunately, meant still getting tongue-tied when trying to talk to a cute girl.  
  
There was a knock. Genny pulled her quill out from between her teeth.  
  
“Come in!” she called.  
  
The door eased open and Yuzu emerged, already dressed for battle in her striking lavender coat, bracers, and boots. She was tucking her scabbard back into her belt after using the hilt of her sword to rap on the door. Genny had come to admire how Yuzu seemed to always be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. So earnest. So vigilant.  
  
Yuzu clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. “Good morning, Sister.”  
  
Genny smiled fondly. “Good morning, Yuzu. You’re up early.”  
  
“So are you. The work waits,” Yuzu nodded. “They’re serving breakfast in the great hall. I’ve come to fetch you. That is, unless you are occupied…?”  
  
Genny’s eyes flicked guiltily across her letter to Est, sitting half-finished on her desk. When she glanced back, she jumped-- Yuzu was suddenly a lot closer than she’d been before. How did a girl who wore bells in her hair move without making a sound?  
  
“Writer’s block?” Yuzu wondered mildly.  
  
Genny huffed at being read so easily. “...Sort of…”  
  
“Penning a letter to one’s beloved…” Yuzu mused. “How touching. I’m afraid I cannot relate.”  
  
“Aww,” Genny teased, bumping an elbow against hers. “You don’t have anyone special?”  
  
Yuzu glanced up at the ceiling, tapping her chin in thought.  
  
“...Well,” she said, with a shrug and the barest of smiles. “I wouldn’t say I have no one.”  
  
Genny smiled. She knew well that feeling; she was an orphan, after all. Raised in a church. But if you looked at her now, you could hardly say she had no one, either.  
  
“Shall we?” Yuzu asked.  
  
Genny glanced at the letter on her desk, worrying her lip with her teeth. Then she set down her quill, scraped her chair back with a sigh, and followed Yuzu out the door.  
  
~*~  
  
There’s a balcony, on the upper levels of Zofia Castle, overlooking the courtyard. It’s a popular spot for those seeking a bit of solitude, a nice, quiet alcove perfect for stargazing and contemplation. Rinea spent quite a few nights draped across that balcony, eyes up, an unquiet mind keeping her awake. But in the daylight, with the sun high in the sky? The view was nothing short of spectacular.  
  
Alm lingered in the shadows of the corridor behind, adjusting the buttons on his doublet. A messenger came running up, whispering in his ear. Alm thanked her and sent her on her way with a grin.  
  
Celica was waiting on the balcony, resplendent in red and white. She stood with her eyes closed, feeling the sun on her face, the wind in her hair… and the familiar warmth of an arm snaking around her waist.  
  
“Good morning,” Alm said brightly.  
  
“Good morning,” Celica cooed sleepily, leaning into him. She saw the knowing grin on his face and raised a suspicious eyebrow. “...What are _you_ smiling about?”  
  
“You,” Alm smirked. Celica rolled her eyes.  
  
“Please. Save that line for your courtship.”  
  
“And here I thought _you_ were courting enough for the both of us.”  
  
Celica gave him a mostly playful shove. That stupid grin never left Alm’s face.  
  
“What _is_ it, Alm?” Celica groaned.  
  
“Nothing, nothing,” Alm said, waving the thought away. “A surprise.”  
  
“A surprise? For me?” Celica wondered.  
  
“Hush,” Alm said, nodding out across the courtyard. “I told you, it’s nothing. It’s just a beautiful morning.”  
  
Celica sighed and shook her head, letting Alm keep his secrets. “...Yeah. It really is.”  
  
The Dragonflight were arrayed before them, spread out across the grass. Celica could hear the whistling of arrows flying through the air and thudding into targets, could hear Silque’s cheering, Mae’s jeering, and Faye’s playful barbs. She saw Rinea on her knees in a plot of soil that Celica had set aside for her, talking with Boey about flowers, more animated than she’d ever seen. She heard the whistling crack of practice weapons against each other, Yuzu’s distinct, sharp battle cries contrasted with some poor soul’s fearful yelping. And on a small rise near the training field, the older members were even having a picnic-- Sonya and Shade draped across each other like seals basking on a shore, and Saber, passing around a waterskin filled with, Celica suspected, something a lot stronger than sweet tea.  
  
“It’s good to see everybody enjoying the weather,” Alm mused. Celica pursed her lips, eyeing the distant clouds darkening the horizon.  
  
“Yes,” Celica murmured. “As long as it lasts…”  
  
“Excuse me, Your Majesties?”  
  
A page was waiting behind them, bowing deep at the waist. When he rose, he had a sheaf of papers clutched to his chest.  
  
“Today’s missives, my Queen. Including those meant for the Lady Exalt, as you requested.”  
  
Celica winced. “...Thank you. Please leave them here.”  
  
The page left the stack of missives on a low table just inside the corridor, and made his exit. Celica took the pile and began leafing through, Alm raising a curious eyebrow.  
  
“...You’re taking her mail for her, now?” Alm asked lightly.  
  
Celica bristled at the accusation in his tone. “...Genny is a busy girl. I’m just trying to lighten the load. Make sure she doesn’t try to do everything by herself.”  
  
“Hm!” Alm said brightly. “That sounds a lot like someone I know.”  
  
Celica shot him a withering look. “ _Alm._ ”  
  
Alm raised his hands in surrender. “Listen. All I’m saying is, you’re my wife, Celica. I know who I married.”  
  
Celica smiled, growing playful. “Please, Alm. We entered a political marriage scarcely a month after seeing each other for the first time in _seven years_. Let’s not pretend like this was some sort of fairy tale romance.”  
  
“On the contrary,” Alm teased. “Married on the third date? That sounds _exactly_ like a fairy tale to me.”  
  
“Hush,” Celica rolled her eyes, jabbing her elbow into Alm’s ribs. She flipped through the stack of missives, scanning. She paused over a particular missive, the mirthful smile fading from her face, her brow furrowing in concern. Her eyes darted between the letter in her hands and the courtyard below, searching.  
  
“What is it?” Alm said quietly. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Celica swallowed hard, shaking her head.  
  
“Gather the Dragonflight and meet me in the war room. I need to talk to Genny.”  
  
~*~  
  
Genny hit the ground with a thud. She pushed herself up on her elbows, spitting out sand, and rolled over onto her back with a groan. Her whole body ached and throbbed, pulsing with fire. The dirt of the training field got in her mouth, her hair, her boots. It clung to her shift, sodden with sweat. She lay back, her skin flush and emanating heat, feeling dirtier than she’d ever felt in her life-- and she was a girl who’d had to play midwife for sheep ever since she was ten years old.  
  
“Again!” Yuzu snapped.  
  
Genny moaned in protest. She limply waggled her training spear in her hand, still laying on the ground.  
  
“...Like… _right now_ , again, or…?”  
  
Yuzu sighed and shook her head, tutting.  
  
“Sister, you know I have naught but the greatest admiration for you and yours. But that. Was. Pathetic.” Yuzu lectured, pacing around Genny’s prone form. “Come now, Sister. You’ve a talent for magic I cannot begin to fathom, but if ever those arts fail you, it will come down to your staff, your wit, and your will.”  
  
“My staff is made of crystal, just by the by,” Genny winced, prodding at the hot, aching sores on her hands. “I don’t know if it can stand up to direct combat…”  
  
“Your staff is a conduit for your Goddess’ will,” Yuzu said. “If your faith is unbreakable, then so, too, shall be your staff.”  
  
Genny didn’t say anything. She took a deep breath and blew out a sigh, sweat dripping down her brow, her heart hammering in her chest. At this point, Genny was convinced Yuzu had more faith in Genny’s lungs than Genny did in Mila herself.  
  
But looking at her now, at the light in her young, earnest gaze, Genny was struck by the fact that Yuzu did have faith in her. And she wasn’t the only one. So Genny shook the pins and needles from her fingers, closed her hand around her wooden-tipped training spear, and pulled herself to her feet. She snapped into the stance Yuzu had taught her, took a deep breath, and let it out slow.  
  
“...Again,” she said, resolute.  
  
Yuzu nodded. She raised her training spear in salute, before snapping into her stance.  
  
“Here I come.”  
  
Yuzu shot forward, her hair flying like the tail of a comet behind her. Immediately, the courtyard filled with the sharp cracks of wood against wood, of Yuzu’s fierce cries and Genny’s yelps as she swatted Yuzu’s strikes away with split-seconds to spare.  
  
Yuzu’s spear forms were unlike anything Genny had ever faced on Valentia. All the lancers Genny had ever faced had fought with spear and shield in tandem, their spears used primarily as thrusting weapons, with the biggest trick being how to get past their shield. But Yuzu wielded her spear with deadly grace, in huge, sweeping two-handed strikes that left Genny’s arms shaking and bones rattling even when she managed to block them. She withered under Yuzu’s relentless offensive, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists as each of Yuzu’s scything blows came crashing down.  
  
Yuzu feinted low, then slashed upward, smacking Genny’s training spear up over her head. Yuzu darted forward, hooked her foot around Genny’s ankle and then caught her across the chest with the haft of her spear. Genny fell with a yelp, leveraged over Yuzu’s knee. Yuzu stepped back, braced her spear in both hands and whirled her blade around in a massive swing. Genny squealed, flinching away.  
  
Yuzu’s spear stopped dead an inch from her face.  
  
Genny blinked, peering up past the wooden spearhead up to Yuzu, catching her breath, a proud smile on her lips. She squeaked as Yuzu playfully bopped her on the head.  
  
“A fine match, Sister,” Yuzu smiled. “Your finest yet.”  
  
“But still not good _enough_ ,” Genny pouted.  
  
Genny took Yuzu’s offered hand and let her pull her to her feet. She wobbled, her legs aching and feeling like jelly, half-falling into Yuzu’s arms. Yuzu just smiled, amused, brushing dirt from Genny’s clothes. Genny sighed, leaning into her for just a moment. Then she stepped away, self-conscious, and mopped the sweat from her face with the kerchief tucked into her sash.  
  
Yuzu snapped to attention, her spear at her shoulder. She bowed her head, stiff.  
  
Genny blinked, and turned, her bone-tired expression melting into a warm smile.  
  
“Hey, Celica!” Genny chirped. She abruptly remembered that her shift was clinging to her skinny frame, covered in grime and soaked through. Genny curled her arms around her chest and squealed in embarrassment. “Wahhh! Don’t look at me, I’m all sweaty…!”  
  
“You’re fine,” Celica smiled. She reached up and ruffled Genny’s hair, hid her grimace behind a practiced, queenly smile, and surreptitiously wiped her hand on the edge of her cloak. She turned to Yuzu, dipping her head in a nod.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Yuzu returned tightly.  
  
“Just ‘Celica’, I insist.”  
  
“Of course, Your Majesty.”  
  
Celica sighed. Yuzu had fought at her side a month ago, during the incident in the woods. They had gotten along well, Celica thought. But then Yuzu had found out she was actually a queen, and it was like a wall had gone back up, Yuzu defaulting to her stiff, formal self.  
  
That was royalty for you. Celica shook her head.  
  
“Is everything okay, Celica?” Genny wondered.  
  
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Celica nodded. “I just wanted to see you.”  
  
But Celica couldn’t hide the lighthouse crest of Novis Priory, sealed in wax on the letter in her hands, nor could she hide her smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Genny frowned, furrowing her brows in concern.  
  
“Celica,” Genny began gravely. “What’s wrong?”  
  
~*~  
  
In the war room at Zofia Castle, there is a map unlike any other in the world.  
  
It lies draped across a round table hewn from the trunk of a single, gargantuan tree, for in the era before the Dragonfall, Mila’s bounty ensured that nothing born from the earth did anything by half. It is a map of the world, done in vivid ink that shimmers and pulses, almost as if it is alive. One can pull out and take in a view of entire continents, or pull in and view single buildings, as quickly and as easily as tugging on the tassels hanging from the edges of the table.  
  
Most striking, however, is the effect the map has on objects placed upon it. For, if you take a little token-- some little trinket of personal value, like, say, the rose medallion Genny wears around her neck, or Alm and Celica’s wedding rings-- and place it on the map, those objects will be drawn to where their bearers are in reality, and will move with them in real time. Alm keeps a set of little clay figurines, imbued with magic and the essence of his officers, to monitor troop movements across Valentia.  
  
It was, overall, the most astounding work of magical engineering that Genny had ever seen.  
  
And Luthier had given it to Alm as a wedding present.  
  
“There’s trouble on the Archanean sea,” Celica began, throwing the letter onto the table. Genny watched, fascinated, as the letter slowly slid itself across the map until it was laying over Novis Island, the wax seal of a lighthouse aligning perfectly with the Novis Priory. “Ships are being attacked, and lost with all hands.”  
  
“Pirates,” Mae rolled her eyes. “Why is it always pirates?”  
  
“Not pirates,” Saber grunted. “Pirates leave survivors. A dead merchant is one you can’t rob anymore. They’ll take everything you’ve got, but leave you alive. You can tell everyone at port just who it was who robbed you, what flag they were flyin’, and then the bastards who got you get to compare the size of their ‘reputations’. This doesn’t sound like pirates.”  
  
“In the past two weeks, six vessels have been reported missing,” Celica continued. “All of them, gone without a trace-- except one. The _Our Lady of the Waves,_ a ship that’s been making trade runs between Novis Island and the mainland for decades. This letter,” Celica gestured to the letter stamped with a sigil of a lighthouse, etched in wax, “comes to us from Junior Sage Lucien of Novis Priory.”  
  
“Hey, Junior Lucien!” Mae grinned. “He’s a good guy. Boey and I left him in charge so we could both come to Genny’s exaltation!”  
  
“Well,” Celica added dryly, “he _politely_ inquires as to how long that ceremony is supposed to last, and whether you’ll be returning to Novis soon.”  
  
Mae paled. Boey thwapped her on the arm.  
  
“You didn’t _tell him_ we’d joined the Dragonflight and would be gone until further notice?” Boey hissed.  
  
“I forgot…?” Mae offered lamely. She swatted Boey’s hand away, defensive. “Okay, _you_ could have written him, too!”  
  
Across the table, Faye’s eyes went wide. Silque bumped her elbow against hers.  
  
“Are you okay?” Silque wondered.  
  
“I’m fine,” Faye said quickly, clearing her throat. “I just, uh… I just remembered I should write home and tell Kliff and Grandma where I’ve been…”  
  
“See?” Mae cried, vindicated. “ _Faye_ does dumb shit, too!”  
  
_“Hey!”_  
  
“Moving on,” Celica insisted, “Junior Lucien reports that last week, a man washed up on the Novis coastline who claimed to be a sailor aboard the _Our Lady_. ‘He was delirious when I found him,’ Lucien writes. ‘But even after a few nights in the priory’s care, after drinking clean water and having proper meals, his story remained the same: the _Our Lady of the Waves_ was sailing its usual course, just like it had for years. The sun was shining; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. But then the weather turned without any warning. The sky darkened with coming rain, and a mist rolled across the water. And then they saw it-- black sails, and pirates unlike anything he had ever seen. Monsters, he told me. With fire in their eyes.’”  
  
“A ghost ship, full of monsters,” Boey drawled. _“Lovely._ Is the Dragonflight in the business of chasing after rumors, now?”  
  
“You’re just scared, _”_ Mae teased.  
  
“I am, but that’s hardly the point...” Boey muttered.  
  
“Boey’s right,” Alm spoke up, the whole room turning at the sound of his voice. “The point is, ghost ship or no ghost ship, the merchant fleet running between Novis and the mainland is under attack, and Novis Island is choking for supplies. I may not know much about Novis, but I know they can’t get by on just fish and sheep. They need those supplies. The trade routes must be reopened.”  
  
“I can put in an order for a new supply shipment,” Celica offered. “If this ghost ship is specifically targeting merchant vessels, maybe we can lure it out into the open. The only thing left is being ready for it if, or when, it comes after us. Genny?”  
  
Up until now, Genny had been more than content for Celica to lead the meeting. Celica was made to command attention, after all, and Genny would much prefer everyone’s eyes on Celica rather than herself, especially when she was fresh from a training session with Yuzu and sorely needed a bath. But, nonetheless, a room full of her closest friends turned to _her_ for counsel, and Genny felt the weight of their stares settle like a stone on her chest.  
  
“Yes?” she eked out.  
  
“If it’s pirates, it’s one thing,” Celica said. “If it’s Terrors, quite another. But either way, Genny, the decision is yours. Novis calls for aid.”  
  
Genny clutched the rose medallion around her neck, searched the room and found Sonya’s eyes. Sonya dipped her chin in a nod, a fraction of an inch. Genny swallowed hard.  
  
“And the Dragonflight will answer,” Genny said, gathering strength with every word. She turned to Alm, dipping her head. “Your Majesty, with your permission, I would have the Dragonflight escort this supply shipment to Novis Island. If there _is_ a ghost ship preying on those waters, we’ll find it, and we’ll deal with it.”  
  
“Thank you, my lady Exalt,” Alm grinned. “It would be an honor.”  
  
“Just point us to the nearest freighter,” Genny said, resolute. “We can be en route to Novis and hunting for this so-called ghost ship the instant the cargo’s all loaded.”  
  
Alm clapped a hand on Celica’s shoulder, a strange, knowing smile on his face.  
  
“There _will_ be a ship waiting for you at Zofia Harbor,” Alm said, beaming. “But you’re not gonna take just any old freighter. The Dragonflight’s gonna travel in _style_.”  
  
~*~  
  
It took some time to prepare-- time spent restocking from the castle armory, getting their gear and supplies squared away for their journey, Genny sneaking away to have that bath she’d been craving. At sunrise, with the Dragonflight well-armed, well-fed, and well-rested, they departed Zofia Castle by wagon train, their carriage wheels trundling away.  
  
It took some doing. But Alm was a man of his word, and as they pulled into Zofia Harbor, he finally got to unveil his surprise, waiting down by the docks.  
  
It was a ship, ready and waiting for her maiden voyage. It was no weather-beaten, pot-bellied merchant freighter-- it was a cutter, sleek and swift, shiny and new. Faster than any ship of the line, able to be operated by a minimal crew. It flew the flag of a united Valentia-- a lion sitting at the base of a tree, blue, green, and gold. Carved into the bowsprit was the intricate emblem of a winged rose.  
  
“She’s called the _Thorn_ ,” Alm said, when Celica stopped in her tracks at the crest of the hill. “And she’s all yours.”  
  
Celica didn’t know what to say. Her eyes flitted down the docks, where a hand-picked crew was standing ready and waiting to show the Dragonflight to their rooms belowdecks. Saber gave an eager shout and ran down the pier, clapping men and women on their shoulders as he recognized familiar faces from his mercenary days. A blond sailor in a wheat-gold jacket grinned and offered Saber a bandana, Saber grinning like a schoolboy as he took it from her hands and tied it proudly over his hair. Sonya and Shade lingered nearby, hiding their smiles behind their hands. They tittered and swore they were laughing _with_ him, not _at_ him.  
  
Celica didn’t know what to say. She was glued to her spot at the top of the hill, and damn it, Alm was wearing the biggest, smuggest grin she’d ever seen in her life, savoring the sensation of having left Celica speechless. She turned to where he stood, basking in her astonishment and drinking it in.  
  
“You absolute _madman_ ,” Celica finally managed.  
  
“I _told_ you I had a surprise,” Alm crowed. Celica punched him in the arm. “Ow! Hey! Can’t a guy do something nice for his wife and her friends?”  
  
“You didn’t tell me you were giving me a _ship_!” Celica cried, dumbfounded.  
  
Alm flashed that oh-so-smug grin. “You’re welcome.”  
  
Celica punched him in the arm again.  
  
“How?” Celica demanded, a smile creeping onto her lips. “How did you _do_ this? _When_ did you do this?”  
  
“Three months ago,” Alm explained. “When Genny was first exalted. I commissioned the Thorn because I thought, well, your Terror-hunting would have to bring you out to sea sooner or later. And you, and Genny, both deserve better than just hitching a ride on any barnacle-encrusted freighter in port that happens to be taking passengers.”  
  
Alm took Celica’s hand and squeezed. The smug grin faded from his lips, and he met her eyes, unexpectedly tender.  
  
“You know… in another life, this would have been you all along,” Alm murmured, wistful. He nodded towards the Thorn, to Saber catching up with his friends, to Mae dragging Boey around by the hand, taking in the sights, to Genny, standing at the bow and gazing out across the water, the wind ruffling her fluffy, rosy hair. “It would have been you, sailing the Archanean sea. You’d go on adventures, do extraordinary things. And you’d never have to leave them behind.”  
  
Celica stared at him, her heart caught in her throat. “Alm--”  
  
Alm took Celica’s hand in both of his. He took a deep breath, and sighed.  
  
“...this crown, this life…” Alm murmured. “...I know this… isn’t what you wanted.”  
  
Celica froze. “Alm!”  
  
“I know, if it were up to you...”  
  
“Alm, we did this for Valentia! _I_ did this for--”  
  
“Then do this for me,” Alm said gently. “Please. Take the _Thorn_. Go on your adventure. Be there for Genny. Keep the people you love at your side, right where they belong. I’ll take care of the tedium of running a kingdom. You go out there and defend it. And when the fighting’s over and you’re ready to get some rest… I’ll be waiting for you. Come back to me, and you can tell me _all_ about it.”  
  
Celica gasped, choking back a sob. She yanked Alm into an embrace, throwing her arms around his neck. Alm grunted in surprise, before smiling, his arms settling around Celica’s waist.  
  
“I love you,” Celica murmured into Alm’s throat.  
  
Alm chuckled, and sighed. “...Celica. You don’t _have_ to--”  
  
“I _want_ to,” Celica insisted. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should. But I mean it, in my way. And I know you do, too.”  
  
A shrill whistle cut through the air. Alm and Celica broke apart, eyes scanning the docks. On the pier, the woman in the wheat-gold coat pulled her fingers out of her mouth.  
  
“All aboard!” she called. “All aboard!”  
  
Celica bit her lip. She glanced towards the docks, then back to Alm.  
  
“Go,” Alm said, so tenderly it made her heart ache. “Valentia will still be here when you get back.”  
  
Celica gave Alm one last squeeze, before hurrying down the pier. The blonde in wheat-gold was waiting on the dock, her arms crossed, a pair of blades slung at her hips. She doffed her tricorn and bowed with a flourish.  
  
“Your Majesty,” she began. “Captain Vesper of the Thorn, at your service. You ready to set sail?”  
  
“Yes, Captain,” Celica said, taking her hand. “At your ready.”  
  
The boarding ramp pulled away. Captain Vesper took her place at the wheel, shouting orders. Her crew scurried into action, while the rest of the Dragonflight hurried belowdecks-- all of them, save for Genny, who lingered at the bow, her pink gown and violet cloak snapping in the breeze.  
  
“Are you okay?” Genny asked.  
  
Celica gave one last glance over her shoulder. She met Alm’s eyes on the pier, and he gave her a wave.  
  
_Why can’t love be enough?_ _  
__  
_ Celica bit her lip. She turned, curling a protective arm around Genny and pulling her close.  
  
“Yeah. I”m okay,” Celica murmured. She bumped her head against Genny’s, like a cat. “Are you ready for this?”  
  
“No,” Genny blurted out, and they laughed, together. She curled an arm around Celica’s waist and leaned into her.  
  
It was cold, out on the sea. But Celica was so, so warm.  
  
“I could be, though,” Genny said, lips curling into an eager smile. “It’s been awhile since I’ve felt like this. Like the whole world is out there, waiting. Like anything can happen. Do you know what I mean?”  
  
And as the captain’s voice sang across the breeze, and the Thorn’s sails unfurled with a snap, Celica knew _exactly_ what Genny meant. Because they were pulling out of the confines of the harbor, and out into the open sea. Her cloak was flying in the wind, curling around Genny’s as surely as the arm she held protectively around the younger girl’s shoulders. The sun shone right overhead, glittering across the waves. And despite the wisps of cloud darkening the horizon, for a moment, just a moment, there was nothing but blue skies and open ocean, as far as the eye could see.  
  
It really did feel like the whole world was out there, waiting.  
  
Like a weight had lifted from Celica’s chest. Like her future was waiting, out there on the water.  
  
The wind caught the Thorn’s fully opened sails. They shot forward with a lurch, Genny squealing with delight as Celica caught her and held her steady. They shared a fond glance, before both turning and fixing their eyes on the horizon, the wind roaring at their backs.  
  
They’d never felt so alive.  
  
~*~  
  
“Oh gods, I’m going to _die_.”  
  
Faye moaned miserably, clutching her head. The passenger deck of the Thorn dipped and swayed with the waves, and Faye’s gut along with it. Her stomach gurgled ominously, and she shuddered, reaching for the wooden bucket between her knees. Light and color danced behind her eyes, among them a shock of pink and a huge, insufferable smile.  
  
“Hey there, farmgirl!” Mae chirped, plopping down right next to Faye and looping a friendly arm over her shoulder. “Looks like I get to teach you how to sail, after all. Lucky you!”  
  
Faye opened her mouth, as if to reply, and succeeded only in spitting another mouthful of bile into the bucket between her feet.  
  
“Do try to hold in your… excitement,” Boey muttered, sitting across the corridor with some light reading propped on his lap.  
  
“...fuck you, Boey…” Faye groaned.  
  
“Get in line,” Mae grinned.  
  
Faye rolled her eyes. The waves rolled beneath the ship and Faye clapped a hand over her mouth. All the tossing and turning, of the ship as well as of Faye’s innards, had pulled her hair out of her signature twin braids. Now it lay, framing her face like a scraggly, unkempt mane. She swiped a hand through her hair, pulling her bangs out of her eyes, and glowered up at Mae with a haggard expression.  
  
“...I... have never... thrown up so much... in my _life_ ,” Faye grumbled. Her expression flickered, softened into a grudging respect. “...I don’t know how you handle it.”  
  
“Practice,” Mae shrugged.  
  
Faye groaned, her vision spinning. She sank into the crook of Mae’s shoulder, wordlessly letting Mae pull her close.  
  
“Look at us,” Mae cooed, smiling that smile that made her oh-so-punchable sometimes. “Y’know, Faye, this is probably the closest we’ve ever been. I could just about kiss you.”  
  
“Try it, and I’ll vomit right down your throat,” Faye growled.  
  
“Ew,” Boey said dryly.  
  
“Mila, sister, what kind of shit are you _into_?” Mae teased.  
  
“Hey, Mae, I have an idea,” Faye drawled. “Let’s play a game called ‘Faye, how does that make you feel’. You can go first, Mae. Dig deep down and try to say something nice about me.”  
  
“You’ve got a great rack,” Mae said immediately. Boey snorted.  
  
Faye rolled her eyes. “...Dig a _little_ deeper.”  
  
“Okay, well…” Mae tilted her head, thinking. “...well, I’ve known you for a few months now, and aside from that time we put each other in the infirmary, I think you’re alright. If you spoke up a bit more, I might even say you’re pretty cool.”  
  
“Faye, how does that make you feel?” Boey asked, knowingly.  
  
“I’ll tell you how it makes me feel,” Faye smirked. “Mae, you make me s-- hurk!”  
  
Faye hunched over her bucket, groaning and wiping spittle from her lips. Mae stared at her, dumbfounded. Then she slapped a hand into Faye’s back just as suddenly and abruptly as the realization hit her.  
  
“Oh! Oh! I make you-- I make you sick!” Mae snorted, cackling. “‘Cuz… y’know, I’m--”  
  
“Oh gods, you’re such an _idiot_ ,” Faye huffed. But she still had a trace of a smile on her lips, and when she met Mae’s eyes, she just couldn’t help herself. She cracked up, a snicker turning into a snort, a snort turning into a full blown giggle fit. Her stomach churned, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in alarm. But then she and Mae exchanged glances, and they were laughing again, cackling and clinging to each other, practically rolling on the deck.  
  
Yuzu raised an eyebrow at the commotion, but said nothing. She had her hands formally clasped behind her back, following dutifully at Genny’s heels. Genny was pacing the passenger deck, ostensibly to check on her friends and see how the Dragonflight was settling in for the voyage. Really, she just felt like taking a walk. But it was also a prime opportunity to take a tour of the ship, and to spend some quality time with her sort-of sister.  
  
“How are you feeling, Yuzu?” Genny wondered, as she idly trailed a hand across the walls, familiarizing herself with the ship’s layout.  
  
“Well,” Yuzu replied, terse as always.  
  
Genny smiled. Part of her admired Yuzu’s blunt, earnest, straightforward personality. Another part of her just wished Yuzu would lighten up every once in awhile.  
  
“Have you ever sailed before?” Genny asked.  
  
“On occasion,” Yuzu shrugged.  
  
“I’m just curious-- you don’t seem to be seasick at all.”  
  
“I hide it well,” Yuzu said stiffly. “I have some prior experience with boats, though I would hardly call myself a sailor. And when it comes to handling nausea, I find the simplest solution is not to talk--”  
  
Yuzu stopped short, standing rigidly in place. She grimaced, screwing her eyes shut for just a moment. When she opened them again, there was Genny, silently offering her a bucket.  
  
“I’m _fine_ ,” Yuzu insisted, her lips tight. Genny shrugged.  
  
Down the corridor, they came across Saber, casually leaning against a cabin’s open doorway. He’d changed out of his breastplate, with its looping armored crest, the surface glittering with protective anti-magic wards. Though he kept his boots and bracers, now he was just in a sailor’s simple, rugged tunic, vest, and breeches, sporting the red bandana Captain Vesper had so proudly given him.  
  
“This get-up sure brings me back,” Saber grinned, flexing a bicep. “I feel ten years younger.”  
  
“You look like a jerk,” Sonya teased. She was standing just inside the cabin, Shade melodramatically draped, limp and wilting, across her arms. Genny and Yuzu paused outside the door, and Sonya smiled, nodding to them in greeting.  
  
“Hello, little one. Littler one.”  
  
Genny glanced beside her. While anyone with eyes could see Yuzu had a better toned physique than Genny’s skinny frame, Genny had one advantage: she was still taller than Yuzu. Barely, but still.  
  
“Miss Sonya,” Yuzu said, dipping her head.  
  
“Hello, Mother,” Genny said sweetly. “How are you settling in?”  
  
“I’m doing just fine,” Sonya mused. “Saber, meanwhile, is busy playing dress-up.”  
  
“Hey!” Saber bristled. He turned to the girls, hopeful. “Kids, what do you think of this getup, huh? C’mon, tell her. Tell her I look good.”  
  
“You _look_ like a sitting duck for the next rogue sorcerer we come across,” Sonya all but purred, raising two fingers and pressing them to Saber’s chest. “Bang.”  
  
Saber made a show of stumbling backwards against the far wall and clutching his chest as if he were shot. He caught Genny’s eyes, playful.  
  
“...Now _that’s_ a knockout,” Saber grinned.  
  
Genny gagged. She wrenched her gaze away, desperate to change the subject.  
  
“...How, um… how are _you_ feeling, Miss Shade?”  
  
“I want to die,” Shade said flatly.  
  
Genny withered. “...Oh… good…”  
  
“Just… urp!” Shade gagged, a hand over her mouth. She cleared her throat, glancing up at her cot, just a few paces away, and quietly wondering if she could make it even that far without falling over. She groaned. “...Just… everyone… be a dear and wake me up when we get there, would you?”  
  
“Be strong, Sensei,” Yuzu urged.  
  
“Don’t worry, kiddo,” Saber said. “Sonya and I will take good care of Shade.”  
  
Saber winked. Or maybe he just blinked-- it was hard to tell with just the one eye. Sonya chuckled, her lips curled in an impish grin.  
  
Yuzu’s eye twitched.  
  
“...Thank you for your… hospitality…”  
  
Genny sighed, burying her head in her hands while Saber and Sonya exchanged glances that would’ve gotten them thrown out of church. She heard hushed voices, purring laughter and the creak of the cabin door pulling closed. Genny took a deep breath, and let it out slow.  
  
“...Our parents get along well,” Yuzu said flatly.  
  
Genny did her level best not to scream. She took Yuzu’s hand, squeezed it to settle her own nerves more than anything else, and pulled Yuzu along down the hall.  
  
“Let’s… let’s see how the others are doing…”  
  
~*~  
  
Night fell across the waves, and clouds crept across the sky, blotting out the moon. Strange shadows flitted in the gathering dark. Every mage on the ship felt the intruder in astral space-- the huge, monstrous presence brushing up against their auras like a bear against a tent, sniffing, searching. There was something out there, alright. And, bravely, or perhaps foolishly, they were sailing _towards_ it, and not away.  
  
Yuzu, who would readily admit that she was no mage, could not sense the phantom lurking on the horizon. But she did feel something; a curious sensation in her core that lured her out of her evening meditation and out of her cabin.  
  
She emerged into the passenger deck’s spinal corridor to discover that she was far from the only one who couldn’t sleep that night. The Dragonflight were assembled, perched on crates, lounging on benches, or merely sprawled on blankets on the deck itself. She saw Boey and Mae sitting on the deck, tomes propped open on their laps, reading by the conjured light of Genny’s staff. A quick glance revealed their wildly differing tastes in literature: advanced alchemical theory for Boey, a pulp thriller of a murder mystery for Mae. Whatever they were reading, they were still half-leaning against each other, and they still sat close enough to hold hands between page turns.  
  
Genny herself was staring at an empty page, gnawing at her quill so hard Yuzu was sure she’d snap it in half. Yuzu felt a twinge of fond sympathy. Insomnia was something she’d faced down in the past, but Yuzu had never been beset by writer’s block.  
  
Yuzu took a seat at Genny’s side, meeting her curious glance with a nod. Genny smiled, and Yuzu settled in beside her, crossing her legs and folding her hands on her lap. Yuzu took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and resumed her meditation.  
  
She could have done this in her cabin, admittedly. But it got cold, out at sea, and here among Genny and her friends it was so, so warm. She’d only known the Dragonflight a month, but being around them, Genny especially, was… relaxing.  
  
It did wonders for her seasickness, at any rate.  
  
Just across the way, a trio had similarly gathered around SIlque’s staff, laid on the floor, cast in its glow as if it were a campfire. Faye was dozing off on Silque’s lap, Silque gently trailing her fingers through Faye’s hair. Beside her, Rinea was carefully raising a chipped porcelain cup to her lips. Despite the ship dipping and swaying on the waters below, Rinea’s hands were rock steady, and she savored her tea without spilling a drop.  
  
“You seem to be acclimating well,” Silque mused.  
  
Rinea smiled, gingerly setting her teacup back on its saucer. “...Well. Getting your sea legs doesn’t seem so difficult after two months of getting used to my _ordinary_ legs again.”  
  
Silque pursed her lips. She reached out, took Rinea’s arm with a squeeze.  
  
“...I’m sorry,” Silque began.  
  
Rinea’s heart fluttered at Silque’s touch, even now. But she pushed that feeling aside, along with the anxiety darkening Silque’s eyes.  
  
“Don’t be,” Rinea urged. “Novis is your home, yes? And you haven’t been there in years. If you missed this chance to visit the island again, because you were stuck in Zofia Castle with me…”  
  
“I couldn’t just leave you behind,” Silque insisted.  
  
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t,” Rinea tittered. She nonchalantly raised her teacup and took a sip, ignoring how it was already empty. It was the principle of the thing, really. “I’m right here.”  
  
Silque huffed and looked away, as if in indignation to the flicker of warmth that flashed across her cheeks. Rinea smiled, satisfied at her little victory. Silque grumbled, playfully swatting at Rinea’s teacup.  
  
“What? What?” Rinea wondered.  
  
“Put that away,” Silque said, stubborn.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“So I can hold you.”  
  
Rinea, bless her heart, _squeaked_. She stared, and mewled in half-hearted protest, as Silque took her teacup and saucer, set them aside, and then laid her hand on Rinea’s knee, palm-up in invitation. Rinea covered her face as if she were doing something outrageously lewd, before tentatively slipping her hand into Silque’s. Silque twined their fingers together with a squeeze.  
  
“I’m _right here_ ,” Faye teased.  
  
Rinea yelped, snatched her hand out of Silque’s grasp, and wiped it on her dress as if worried Silque’s touch would leave a stain. Silque rolled her eyes, mirthful.  
  
“I thought you were asleep,” Silque cooed, mussing Faye’s hair.  
  
“I was _trying_ to sleep,” Faye murmured drowsily, leaning into Silque’s touch. “But you two were being cute. _Very_ distracting.”  
  
Someone knocked on the wall behind her, and Silque glanced over her shoulder. Celica peered around the corner of a storage crate, carrying a wrapped bundle in her arms.  
  
“Wow, I guess we’re all up late, huh?” Celica smiled, hefting her bundle. She called out to the deck, drawing all eyes to her. “Good evening, everyone! Is anybody hungry?”  
  
Boey raised an eyebrow. “Not… really.”  
  
“Well, too bad,” Celica giggled. She stepped into the light of Silque’s staff, revealing the burlap sack of oranges she was carrying. “We’re all up, so we could all do with a midnight snack. Captain’s orders.”  
  
“The captain’s really got _you_ , of all people, passing out snacks in the middle of the night?” Mae wondered, dubious.  
  
“Captain Vesper was quite specific. No one on this ship is getting scurvy on her watch,” Celica said. She continued, sheepish. “...Also, when she told me to pass out all these oranges, she took one right out of the bag and took a bite, peel and all. After that, I could hardly say no.”  
  
“Holy shit,” Mae chuckled.  
  
“Okay! Well, I guess I’m awake, now!” Faye announced. She sat up and stretched, rubbing at her eyes. She accepted an orange from Celica with a warm nod, scanning the room. “...Looks like we’re _all_ awake, actually.”  
  
“If we’re all up anyways, we should all _do_ something,” Mae suggested.  
  
“There’s a thought,” Rinea chimed in. “Can anyone sing?”  
  
“Silque can,” Boey said. “Rich, smoky. She’d be just as at home crooning away in a tavern as she is at the priory singing hymns.”  
  
“Oh, _wow_ ,” Faye cooed. “I would _love_ to see that. Silque, in a nice dress, draped across a table while the fiddler plays her in…”  
  
Mae barked out a laugh. “What kind of taverns are you _going_ to?”  
  
“You flatter me, truly,” Silque preened, a hand to her chest. “But I’m afraid all I know are hymns of Mila. Hardly appropriate fare for a voyage on the sea.”  
  
“We could ask Saber,” Celica offered. “I bet he knows plenty of great sea shanties!”  
  
“Saber is _busy_!” Genny squeaked.  
  
“Alright, then, Gen,” Mae said, leaning an elbow on Genny’s shoulder and peering down at her diary. “Why don’t you tell us a story?”  
  
Genny clapped her diary shut. “Oh, no, I- I couldn’t--”  
  
“You’re a writer, Sister Genny?” Rinea asked.  
  
“No! Well, yes, but--”  
  
“Damn right she is!” Mae crowed. “She’s writing the next epic fantasy that’s gonna take Valentia by storm! And when she does it, we get to brag that we knew her back when she was just starting out. C’mon, Gen, give us a little sneak peek.”  
  
Genny saw the gathered eyes on her and squealed in embarrassment, hugging her diary to her chest.  
  
“ _Mae!_ I’m not _ready_ for this kind of audience!”  
  
“Aww, don’t be so shy!”  
  
“Mae, leave her be,” Celica chided.  
  
“Fine…”  
  
“Alright, alright. _I_ have a story,” Silque said. “More of a legend, really. And it’s one that the stuffier members of the church would call ‘heresy’.”  
  
“Oh shit, this ought to be good,” Mae blurted out.  
  
Silque grinned. She leaned over her staff, cast in its light as if above a campfire, as the rest of her friends huddled in close.  
  
“The tale of Mila and Novis,” Silque began. “Long ago, when the world was young…”  
  
~*~  
  
The world did not look as it does today.  
  
There were no nations, no islands or lakes. There was simply the Land and the Sea.  
  
In those days, the world was split into two neat halves. There was a single, vast continent, the dominion of Mother Mila. And there was a single, all-encompassing ocean.  
  
While humanity had tamed the earth, tending livestock and working the fields, the ocean was a wild, feral thing, riven by constant storms.  
  
Mother Mila is in the earth, and in the rain. Her rivers and rain clouds gave humanity life; but the sea was something else entirely, something inscrutable, terrifying. Humanity would gaze upon the waves with fear and awe. In those days, when all the land was united, the end of the land marked the edge of humanity’s dominion.  
  
The ocean kept this boundary. The end of the land was the end of the world.  
  
Mother Mila was beloved of her people, but even she sought solitude from time to time. The coast was the one place in her dominion where her disciples could not follow, held at bay by their deep, abiding fear of the sea.  
  
One day, Mila was walking along the coast, gazing out at the roiling sea and lightning flashing overhead.  
  
On that day, Mila saw her.  
  
She was basking on the shore, a beauty with rich, sun-kissed skin, her hair in pale curls falling across her shoulders like seafoam. She was sunning herself on a rock, her lithe form glistening in the twilight, and as she turned to face her visitor, unused to company--  
  
Mila saw her eyes, shining like a pearl in the deep, and her heart caught fast in her chest.  
  
She was Novis, goddess of the ocean, lady of the waves.  
  
And she was the most beautiful woman Mila had ever seen.  
  
Mila, Mother Mila, goddess of the earth and lady of the wood, a woman to whom kings and warlords swore fealty, found herself at a loss for words.  
  
And, before Mila could find her wits and speak, Novis merely smiled, and slipped away into the waves.  
  
Mila was intrigued. And she would not be deterred. She came to that coast, day after day, seeking the beauty by which she was so enthralled.  
  
The days spun into weeks; the weeks, into months. Mila, though surrounded by adoring followers and the riches of the earth itself, found herself craving those long walks along the shore, desperate for a glimpse of that blue-haired beauty. And Novis, though holding dominion over things deep and dark, found herself lingering in shallower waters, waters where the light could still reach.  
  
Theirs was a strange sort of courtship. It was Mila’s very first, truth be told. For Mila had many lovers, and had no shortage of disciples willing and eager to meet her needs. But Novis was no starry eyed priestess, bowing to her every whim. Novis was a goddess; her equal. Perhaps her only equal in all the world.  
  
But no matter how fond their time together became, there was still a hesitance, a distance, between them-- one that Mila found absolutely maddening.  
  
“Why do you pull away?” Mila asked, one day, as she lay on the shore, heedless of the sand in her gown. “Do you not desire me?”  
  
Novis shook her head. “There is nothing and no one I desire more.”  
  
“Then why?”  
  
“Because we are more than mere flesh,” Novis said, smiling with a sadness as deep as the sea. “We are the Land and the Ocean. We were made separate for a reason. We were not meant to collide.”  
  
“We are divine,” Mila insisted. “Our will is that of the world. Who could deny our union, if we tried?”  
  
“It is not so simple,” Novis said. “I cherish you, truly. But we cannot be more than this. To court me is to court disaster.”  
  
Mila rose, gazing deeply into Novis’ eyes.  
  
“...You fear me,” Mila whispered. “You fear for me.”  
  
“I fear for your people,” Novis murmured.  
  
Mila reached out, brushing her hand against Novis’ cheek. Below her, the tide rippled and shivered, curling up around her waist as if to embrace her.  
  
“Do not be afraid,” Mila intoned. “Love is… a sanctuary.”  
  
Novis took a shuddering breath, clasping a hand over Mila’s.  
  
“...No, my pearl,” Novis whispered. “Love is a tempest.”  
  
And it was in that moment that they realized-- this was love. Far more than mere curiosity, far more than fondness, more than loneliness. This was love. For good or ill.  
  
Their lips met, like waves upon the sand, like salt and sunlight and a seaborne breeze. Mila pulled Novis into her embrace, and the waves rose up to curl around them. They curled together, equal and opposite, two forces of nature perfectly entwined. They made love on that beach, embraced by the tide. They cried out together, in voices like rolling thunder and trembling earth, every touch searing like a forest fire, every kiss like a crash of lightning.  
  
They made love across the sands, among the waves, in both mortal flesh and in glimmering scales, iridescent in the light off the water. At last, they laid themselves to rest on the coast, Novis’ tail curled tight around Mila’s legs, Mila’s wings like a blanket around her shoulders.  
  
In that moment, the twin truths of love became plain.  
  
For as they lay there, tangled in one another, their sweat cooling in the sea breeze…  
  
Love was, indeed, their sanctuary. But love was also a tempest.  
  
They spent one blissful night together, only to awake to catastrophe.  
  
For, as Novis feared, she and Mila were not mere mortal flesh. They were divine, their souls bound to the sea and the land.  
  
In their passion, they had brought twin calamities upon the world-- a great flood sweeping across the continent, massive earthquakes collapsing cities into watery graves, some tremors so powerful that coastal cities broke from the mainland and were set adrift into the sea.  
  
Humanity cried out in fear and desperation. But they did not curse Mother Mila for her earthquakes. How could they? Mila gave them the land; gave them life. Mila provides.  
  
But the ocean, the awful, monstrous, terrifying ocean, saw fit to destroy Mila’s bounty. Her land, her crops, her people, all swept away by the cataclysmic flood.  
  
The death toll was catastrophic. Humanity beseeched the heavens, cursing the Ocean for the calamity brought upon them, seeking Mila’s counsel, Mila’s blessing, Mila’s salvation.  
  
Mila gave them no heed. She had taken many lovers in the past, but Novis was the only one who could truly claim to have held her heart-- wholly, utterly, even if the pursuit of her love left humanity in ruins.  
  
But Novis looked upon the devastation that her union with Mila had brought humanity, and her heart ached with a grief as deep and dark as the sea.  
  
She could not hate the mortals who cursed her name. How could she? She had, indeed, brought ruin upon them. They, too, loved Mila. But Mila was ready to cast them all into the abyss if it meant Novis would be hers and hers alone.  
  
So Novis swore: never again would humanity suffer for her love. And with a heavy heart, she bade Mila farewell, and fled into the sea.  
  
Grief shattered Mila, and the Land along with her. The world grew into what we know of it today-- separate continents, adrift on the waves. The land, like Mila herself, would never be the same.  
  
But all was not lost. For while many in humanity cursed the ocean, there were a few who witnessed the Great Flood and gained a reverence for its power.  
  
The first sailors were those who worshipped Novis, Lady of the Waves, and gave her the respect she was due. For they knew the ocean did not only destroy; it could also love.  
  
Love is a tempest. But love is also a sanctuary. And while every island that sinks beneath the waves and every lake that dries up and withers away are reminders of what happens when the Land and Sea collide, a sailor knows the land and sea in harmony.  
  
Every sailor sails a ship made with wood that was born from the earth; a reminder to Novis, Our Lady of the Waves, of the love she once knew. And when storm clouds gather, sailors pray to Novis: for her to remember that she and Mila once held love in their hands, and the disaster that comes when you hold that love too tight.  
  
~*~  
  
“Damn…” Mae murmured, leaning her chin on her hands. “...poor Mila…”  
  
“To be in love, truly and utterly, no matter the consequences…” Yuzu murmured thoughtfully.  
  
“But that’s not fair,” Genny complained. “The only reason the Great Flood happened was because Mila and Novis were goddesses. If they were just ordinary mortal women, then they could have been together, no problem!”  
  
“Sometimes, it isn’t that simple,” Celica said gently.  
  
Genny frowned, and looked away.  
  
“So, the beach in that story,” Faye wondered. “That’s gotta be the shore of Novis Island, right? The place where Mila and Novis… er…”  
  
“What a fine place to build a church,” Rinea mused.  
  
“The church doesn’t particularly care for that story,” Silque explained. “It shows a side of Mila that many people are uncomfortable with.”  
  
“What, the side that likes girls? The side that has tons of sex?” Mae huffed.  
  
“How about the part where she was willing to let all of humanity drown if it meant staying with her girlfriend?” Boey said dryly.  
  
“Meh,” Mae waved a hand. “We’ve all been there, haven’t we?”  
  
“This _is_ just a legend, of course,” Silque admitted. “The Mila Faithful would have us believe that Mother Mila could do no wrong. They would write any of her tragic missteps out of history. But Novis knows. And Novis Island remembers.”  
  
“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Faye said. “Is that why they named it Novis Island? Because Mila and Novis did it on the beach?”  
  
“Well, according to the legend, it’s because the island is actually Novis’ corpse.”  
  
_“Ewwww!”_  
  
~*~  
  
Saber emerged from the passenger deck, laughter trailing in his wake. He shook his head with a fond grin, and shut the door behind him.  
  
He stepped out onto the Thorn’s main deck. He breathed deep of the salty sea air, and let out a satisfied sigh. He wandered out onto the deck, idly gnawing on a biscuit he’d swiped from the galley on his way up.  
  
Vesper was standing on the bow, gazing out across the water with her arms folded across her chest and a noble expression. She turned as Saber approached, greeting him with a wave.  
  
“How’re you liking the ship?” Vesper asked.  
  
“It’s good. Everybody’s settling in,” Saber reported. He took another bite out of his biscuit. It was hard as a rock. “Food could be better. I haven’t had hardtack in years. Can’t say I miss it.”  
  
“Trade you,” Vesper said, pulling an orange out of her coat.  
  
Saber peered down at the orange, as if inspecting it for bite marks. “...Think I’ll pass.”  
  
“No scurvy on this ship!” Vesper insisted.  
  
“Alright, alright!” Saber groaned, swiping the orange out of her hand. He peeled it meticulously, trying his best to get it off in one big piece. He glanced up to find Vesper watching him, an odd look in her eyes.  
  
“What?” Saber asked, defensive. “Oh, I’m sorry. I _peel_ my oranges, like a normal person.”  
  
“Not that,” Vesper waved the thought away. “I was just… thinking. Old times.”  
  
“Yeah,” Saber grinned. “It’s good to see you, too.”  
  
Vesper wanted to say something along the lines of ‘not that you can see anything with all this damn fog’, but she was too busy squinting out across the water. There was something out there, something that could have been sails. But what--  
  
“Helmsman!” Vesper snapped. “Turn hard to port!”  
  
“Captain?”  
  
“ _Do it now, sailor!_ ”  
  
Saber lurched as the Thorn veered sharply aside. Something glided past them, emerging, ghostlike, from the fog. Metal whistled through the air, heavy wooden thunks as boarding hooks bit into the Thorn’s railings and ropes snapped taut.  
  
Saber scowled, drawing his sword. In the moonless night, he saw black sails, and shining, inhuman eyes.  
  
Out of the darkness, a chorus of unearthly shrieks echoed across the water. A vessel pulled alongside them, raiders spilling out from its innards like maggots from rotten meat. Planks snapped down, bridging the two ships. Revenants in tattered sailor’s uniforms emerged from the gloom, pallid skin sagging on skeletal frames, daggers and hatchets in hand.  
  
A raider swung across the gap between the ships. He descended upon Saber, howling, crimson ghostfire in his empty eyes.  
  
Vesper caught the leaping raider on her twin blades and slammed his corpse onto the floor.  
  
“All hands on deck!” Vesper bellowed. “To arms! _To arms!”_  
  
~*~


	7. Leviathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonflight set out to find a ghost ship, and they found it-- or rather, the ghost ship found them. Now the maiden voyage of the Thorn has had its glory dimmed by a pirate attack in the middle of the night-- undead raiders with deathly pale skin and ghostfire shining in their eyes.
> 
> For Genny and the rest of her friends from Novis, pirates are nothing new, undead or otherwise. But there are worse things than pirates lurking on those waves, and the Dragonflight’s newest menace hits far too close to home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is two in the morning, but I needed to get this done before food service hell dragged me back in for the rest of the weekend. Everyone, welcome back to my post-canon Valentia creature campaign! And welcome to 'the boat chapter', part two. In these waters, there be dragons! I hope you all enjoy the read! ^^

~*~  
  
In a naval battle, you would think the cannons would be the worst part.  
  
Imagine it. A 24-, 32-, or even 36-pounder, a cast iron beast that roared like thunder alongside a booming chorus of dozens of its fellows. Imagine a broadside crashing down like a meteor shower, the world coming apart in heat and light and seafoam and wood splinters, a death come swiftly, mercilessly, in a single catastrophic instant of annihilation.  
  
But that’s not the way of pirates. Pirates won’t destroy perfectly good contraband with a barrage of cannonfire.  
  
That’s not to say pirates don’t have uses for cannons. A deftly aimed chain shot could destroy a ship’s mast and shred its rigging, leaving a fleeing ship crippled and ripe for the taking. And that’s to say nothing of what a round of grape or canister shot can do to any would-be defenders.  
  
Surely, that is something to fear.  
  
Or perhaps there’s something even worse. Perhaps the slow death is even more dreaded. Perhaps the pirates board the hapless vessel, hacking into their defenders with knives and cutlasses, boarding hatchets. A death by inches as a ship’s defenders fall, one by one. A messy death, doused in blood and flashing blades.  
  
To see your death coming, illuminated by strobing lightning overhead. To die standing, defiant, fighting, but still unable to escape death’s clutches.  
  
As terrible a thought as that is, that is not the worst part of a naval battle.  
  
No. The worst part of a naval battle is the worst part of any battle:  
  
The waiting.  
  
It’s the waiting that tears people apart.  
  
On the passenger deck of the Thorn, Rinea was torn in two. She’d leapt to her feet as the first shouts rang out above, but had frozen in her tracks. Adrenaline surged in her body, fight or flight, run or hide, move, but where? There was nowhere to go. So she stood right where she was, eyes darting between the sailors running past, ears twitching at the sound of blades clashing together, the wood of the ship creaking under its own weight.  
  
Something-- not someone, or at least she hoped it wasn’t someone, no human being should ever sound like that-- shrieked on the deck above. A blade chopped through the air and silenced the horrid wailing with a dense, wet crunch.  
  
Rinea flinched.  
  
“...The captain’s calling…” she murmured, breathless, her eyes wide with fear. “All hands on deck, she’s saying. Are… are passengers hands? She must mean sailors, surely, b-but if she needs us, or me, or my hands, th-then I’m not certainly not using them for anything useful at the moment…”  
  
Rinea glanced down at her hands, clenched tight in the folds of her skirt. Her fingers, soot-black and scarred with lines of pale, icy frostbite, blended seamlessly into the midnight blue starfield of the dress Faye had made for her-- the dress Silque had commissioned on her behalf.  
  
Rinea gasped, Silque easing her fingers out from their tense, anxious hooks. Silque cradled Rinea’s hands in her own, soothingly brushing her thumbs across Rinea’s knuckles, Rinea’s dark, scarred hands like inky waves tucked against Silque’s sun-kissed coast.  
  
“Do not be afraid,” Silque whispered. “I am with you.”  
  
The cabin next door banged open and Faye stumbled out into the corridor. She was fiddling with the straps of her armor, her cloak flung haphazardly over one shoulder. She ducked into the room, pulling her sword belt snug around her hips. She caught Silque by the shoulder, Silque wasting no time in fussing over Faye’s armor to make sure it fit just right.  
  
“Captain’s calling us out to fight. I gotta get out there,” Faye said, urgent. “Are you gonna be okay? Rinea?”  
  
Rinea swallowed. Nodded. “...Silque is with me.”  
  
“And with you, as well, Faye,” Silque said gently. “How is your sword?”  
  
Faye clicked her sword just out of its sheath, its blade shining a pale, frosty blue.  
  
“Not _quite_ as bright as the day you first gave me your blessing,” Faye admitted.  
  
“Then have another,” Silque cooed. “You’re overdue.”  
  
Silque laid a gentle hand over Faye’s, wisps of pale fire winding down Faye’s fingers and pooling in her sword. Their eyes met, haloed by azure flame.  
  
Then Silque darted in and stole a kiss.  
  
It was just a peck, really. A fleeting, chaste thing. And though a tiny, selfish twinge of jealousy fluttered in Rinea’s core, the bloom of warmth and light in her chest pushed aside that feeling, and banished her fear, besides.    
  
Silque and Faye parted, Silque smiling with quiet astonishment at her own boldness, Faye chuckling, sheepish.  
  
“...you know…” Faye grinned, “...you are making it _very_ difficult for me to go out there and fight monsters.”  
  
“Go, then,” Silque said, cheeky. “Just be sure you hurry back.”  
  
Faye pulled Silque into her arms. Rinea glanced away, hoping to offer them some privacy, but Silque reached out and pulled her into the embrace. And then, too quickly for Rinea to notice the red in her cheeks, it was over, and Faye slipped away, joining the assembled Dragonflight at the base of the stairwell leading up to the deck.  
  
A lone sailor, cowering under the stairs and flinching at the battle going on above, balked at the sight of Genny leading the way forward.  
  
“Oi, oi,” he said, puffing himself up and trying to look tough. “Hate to break it to ye, yer Holiness, but it’s a right mess up there. No place for a lady.”  
  
“Well, I’ll let you know if I see one,” Celica said. The sailor scurried away, and Celica turned to Genny. Genny gave her a nod.  
  
Celica drew her sword. Beloved Zofia sang as it left its scabbard, coming alight with a glimmering golden fire.  
  
“Exalted Mila,” Celica intoned, “giver of life, giver of your bounty, and mother to us all…”  
  
Mae drew her sword. The Ladyblade joined Beloved Zofia, lightning snaking around its form, flickering between crackling yellow and fiery crimson.  
  
“Grant us the strength to defend that which we hold most dear,” Mae continued, reverent.  
  
Yuzu’s blade joined the circle of swords, another spoke in the wheel.  
  
“For life,” Yuzu said.  
  
Faye raised her sword, shining with Silque’s blessing.  
  
“For love,” Faye said.  
  
“For all humanity,” Genny said, raising her staff.  
  
She tapped her crystalline staff against the four blades, raised in salute. A resonant chime rang out, a nimbus of power blooming beneath their feet, haloing them in a ring of light. Holy power shivered the air, a radiant aura blazing from four entwined swords-- even Yuzu’s, the unadorned blade now flickering strangely in the light, glimmers of pink like rose petals in the wind.  
  
Genny struck her staff against the ground, her cloak fluttering in an unearthly breeze.  
  
“With these hands, we make the future,” Genny whispered, like a prayer.  
  
She lifted her gaze to the battle above, her staff blazing like a torch.  
  
“Stand tall! Stand together!” Genny cried. “Dragonflight! _Let’s ride!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
The deck of the Thorn was practically swimming in bodies-- hacking, grunting, cursing. Hatchets and shivs flashed in the dark in the instant before they plunged home, spilling gouts of stinking black blood onto the deck.  
  
The behemoth in the mist was just a shadow spewing grapnel lines. Grappling hooks shot out of the fog and bit into the Thorn’s rails, revenant pirates climbing up the lines or scuttling up the sides of the Thorn like spiders, their rotten nails digging into the wood.  
  
An undead pirate vaulted over the railing, pale blue fire burning in his eyes. He raised his cutlass aloft, opening his mouth in a groaning, inhuman shriek.  
  
Vesper brusquely nailed the ghoul’s jaw shut with an upward thrust of her blade, skewering the ghoul through the roof of its mouth. She kicked him off her blade and sent him toppling back over the rail, vanishing into the waters below. She cut the grapple line loose with a chop, only for two more grappling hooks to snag the railing on either side of her. They pulled taut, raiders climbing up from below. Vesper scowled.  
  
“Get your filthy claws off a’ my ship! We just! Had! These railings! Installed!” Vesper cried, every shout punctuated by her cleaving into another pirate’s chest and pitching his body into the waves. She grunted in irritation, glanced over her shoulder and blew her bangs out of her eyes with a huff. “Saber! How ya doin’?”  
  
“I’m having a blast,” Saber said dryly, sidestepping a thrusting shiv and taking its owner’s head off with a single, clean sword stroke. The ghoul’s head hit the floorboards, the wisps of fire in its empty eyes going dark. A raider with a boarding hatchet came charging in, his axe flashing through the air. Saber curled around the cleaving blade and let the ghoul’s own momentum impale himself on Saber’s sword. The ghoul ran onto the blade, barked out in pain, but kept on running, tumbling to the deck and yanking Saber’s sword out of his grasp.  
  
Saber twisted out of the way of an incoming knife, curled an arm around the ghoul’s head, and broke its neck. Another ghoul came, shrieking, out of the fog, with no weapon but its fanged maw, poised to bite. Saber grit his teeth, reared back--  
  
\--and shattered the ghoul’s jaw with a single punch. It hung, limp, from Saber’s arm, its lower jaw pulverized, its upper jaw propped up on Saber’s bicep.  
  
“Yeah, that’s what you get,” Saber grinned, flexing. “You can’t bite me now, can you? Huh? Because I went and fucked up your jaw, that’s what I did! Didja see that, Vesper? Ha-- oof!”  
  
Saber hit the deck with a grunt, a revenant pirate poised above him. Saber recoiled as a blade punched through the ghoul’s torso at an angle, pinning the ghoul to the deck and being a few inches short of stabbing Saber in the ribs.  
  
The ghoul shuddered and died, the ghostfire leaving its eyes. Vesper loomed overhead, cheeky, leaning on the pommel of her sword.  
  
Saber furrowed his brow, annoyed. “You almost hit me!”  
  
“ _He_ almost hit you,” Vesper corrected. She reached over and swatted Saber’s fallen sword across the deck and back into his grasp. Saber got up, nodding his thanks.  
  
“That’s what I get for trying to act cool…” Saber muttered.  
  
“You getting old on me, buddy?” Vesper wondered.  
  
“Listen, short stuff, if I’m old, then you’re old, too.”  
  
“Forty years young, baby!”  
  
A great tremor shook through the ship. A noise, like distant thunder, rumbled beneath the waves. Saber and Vesper exchanged glances, before they saw it-- a fresh wave of grappling lines, shooting through the fog and burying itself into the Thorn’s starboard railing to Vesper’s immediate indignation and dismay.  
  
A tidal wave of bodies and blades surged over the side of the ship. Vesper brought two fingers to her mouth and whistled, rallying her sailors back to her side. Saber grit his teeth, readying his blade, bracing himself for the charge…  
  
A blast of shining emerald wind tore into the ranks of undead from the side, stopping the charge in its tracks. A figure shot out from belowdecks, magicked wind curling around them like wings. They landed with a flourish, throwing their hands forward and blasting the horde back with a conjured wind, the rearmost ranks toppling over the railing and plunging into the sea.  
  
Sonya stood alone on the deck, staring down the horde. Then she glanced over her shoulder, and flashed Saber and Vesper a daring smile.  
  
“Hey, sailors,” Sonya cooed, blowing them a kiss. “Did you miss me?”  
  
Vesper gasped, caught Sonya’s kiss, and clutched it to her heart like a starry-eyed schoolgirl. Saber rolled his eyes.  
  
“Where the hell have _you_ been, princess?”  
  
“I was busy,” Sonya purred.  
  
“‘I was busy’, she says,” Saber grumbled.  
  
“Could you all keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep,” Shade said, emerging from the stairwell, her feathered mantle ruffling as it caught the breeze.  
  
From within the horde of revenant pirates, caught off-guard by their abruptly failed charge, a single ghoul found its wits. It shoved its way through the crowd, its hollow eyes locked on its prey, coiled its legs beneath it, and pounced. It soared through the air, borne aloft with inhuman strength, twin axes flashing in the dark.  
  
Shade splayed her fingers, and her staff of dark, lacquered wood materialized in her grasp. She stepped aside, and struck her staff against the ground.  
  
The leaping ghoul vanished into the floorboards as if through a trapdoor, disappearing into a circular mass of shifting shadow. Shade clenched her fist.  
  
There was a horrid, wet crunch, and a huge spatter of black blood across the deck.  
  
Shade glanced glumly at the dark stains on the hem of her dress, closing her shadow portal with a sigh.  
  
“...I can’t believe you woke me up for _this_ ,” Shade drawled.  
  
“I’ll make it up to you,” Sonya cooed.  
  
At this point, the horde of ghouls almost looked affronted to be ignored for so long. They clamored and screeched, eyes shining with ghostfire, howling and clanging their blades together.  
  
Sonya and Shade exchanged looks-- Sonya, playful; Shade, still tinged with seasickness and eager to get back to her cot. Sonya flexed her fingers, the wind rising around her form. Shade raised her staff, shadows coiling around the wood and the obsidian studs that glinted like stars.  
  
Shade scratched a line into the deck with the sickle-like headpiece of her staff, animated shadows shivering as they gathered within.  
  
The horde of ghouls surged forward, jaws snapping, screeching in that unholy tongue. They charged, their boots pounding a panicked beat against the floorboards--  
  
\--until the sound abruptly changed, and the charging ghouls found themselves sinking into a mass of roiling shadow, the foremost ranks sinking in as deep as their waists. Their boots stuck fast, as if they were wading through tar. They gazed up in wonder to see Shade, clutching her staff at the line she’d drawn on the floor, the boundary where the deck of the Thorn had transformed into an abyss.  
  
Sonya cried out and threw her hands forward, her voice immediately lost to the storm of emerald wind that exploded from her fingertips. The scything gale slammed into the swarm of undead pirates head-on. They were half-sunk into Shade’s pool of dark magic; there was nowhere to run. Sonya’s power crashed into them, blades of focused air shredding their skin and cutting them to ribbons. Excalibur, the tempest, obliterated the horde and hurled their remains out to sea, leaving a forest of severed shins poking out of the dark.  
  
But it wasn’t enough. There were more-- more undead pirates clawing their way up the sides of the Thorn, more hurling grappling hooks through the fog or coming in swinging from ropes and leaping to the deck, axes raised. An impossible force rose against them, this tidal wave of drowned dead, in their dozens, in their hundreds…  
  
But above the rising chorus of unearthly shriekes, above the crushing weight of exhaustion and despair and the jaws of death creeping steadily forward, there was a sound: a chime, resonating across the waves. A chime like tinkling crystal, of a sword and staff entwined.  
  
Genny and Celica stood, Genny’s staff still ringing from when she’d struck it against Beloved Zofia, Celica’s holy sword shining with golden fire.  
  
“Everyone get down!” Celica commanded.  
  
The crew of the Thorn hit the deck, just as Genny slammed her staff down. Light exploded from her form like a thunderclap, a dome of vivid pink that surged into the weary sailors, sealing wounds and filling them with their second wind. The charging ghouls recoiled from the display, hissing in fear as Genny’s light burned through the fog and turned night into day, her gentle pink glow turning the ocean into dawn.  
  
But the sun rose, burning bright in Celica’s hands. Celica raised Beloved Zofia, blazing like a torch, before bellowing a war cry and cleaving to the side in a massive, two-handed swing.  
  
Fire erupted from Beloved Zofia as if it were a living thing. It cascaded above the heads of the Thorn’s crew, lying prone on the deck.  
  
For one brief, blinding moment, the Thorn blazed with light. And when the light faded, Celica strode through the dissipating flames, past the smouldering bones of reanimated pirates and their ashes scattering on the wind. Celica swiped Beloved Zofia to the side as if flicking blood from the blade, embers drifting down around her like shimmering flower petals. Celica slowly, reverently slid Beloved Zofia back into its sheath with a click, before turning and meeting Genny’s eyes with a nod.  
  
Genny tapped her staff against the ground, dispelling the smog of ash and dust littering the deck, and shrouding the Thorn’s deck in a dome of brilliant pink light.  
  
“Dragonflight!” Genny cried out. “It’s time to take the fight to them!”  
  
A dozen fists punched the air, a dozen voices shouting battle cries. Genny strode forward, the Dragonflight gathering to her like moths to a flame. She nodded to them as they drew close, awaiting her counsel. Genny felt a trill of anxiety flutter through her chest. She found Celica beside her, met her eyes, and took a deep breath.  
  
“Captain Vesper,” Genny began.  
  
“Yes, my lady!”  
  
“Defend the Thorn. No raider sets one foot belowdecks.”  
  
“Yes, my lady!”  
  
“Mae, Boey?” Genny continued.  
  
“Ready!” Boey called.  
  
“Take down that ghost ship’s sails. We’re right on top of it, and we’re not letting it get away.”  
  
“You got it!” Mae grinned.  
  
“Yuzu.”  
  
“Sister,” Yuzu nodded.  
  
Genny gazed up at the shadow lurking within the fog. She took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. “...Prepare to board.”  
  
“At once!” Yuzu cried, and took off.  
  
“My lady Exalt? What should I do?”  
  
Genny turned, and saw Faye, sword at her hip, her bow slung over her shoulder. For all her confidence when she was with Silque and Rinea, she seemed downright timid now, in the company of heroes and saints.  
  
Celica stepped forward, offering a gentle smile. She nodded to the bow slung across Faye’s back.  
  
“May I?” she wondered.  
  
Faye held out her bow. Celica raised two fingers to her lips before pressing them to the wood, her blessing snaking down her fingertips and mingling with Faye’s own in wisps of fiery red light. Faye found herself wrenching her gaze away, her face as red as the glimmer in her hands.  
  
“You’re a genius with a bow and arrow, Faye,” Celica said, warm. “You do what you do best.”  
  
Faye beamed-- a smile that turned night right into day. She nocked an arrow, and let it fly.  
  
Faye’s shot soared above the battle, trailing the red light of Celica’s blessing like a comet.  
  
It punched into a ghoul’s skull and exploded him in a blaze of crimson.  
  
Ghouls shrieked. Blades flashed. Vesper and Saber fought back-to-back, grinning like they were both ten years younger, just like the good old days. Grapple lines thudded into the Thorn’s railings and ghouls swarmed up the walls. Light cut through the air-- pink, crimson, and gold, thinning their ranks one lancing beam at a time. The horde weathered their losses, unflinching, pouncing upon the mercenary duo, only for darkness to swallow them up.  
  
Shade struck her staff against the deck, calling up lashing tendrils and coiling nettles of smoking black shadow. Thorns rose up and snagged ankles, wrists, yanking leaping pirates out of the air and slamming them back down. Ghouls snapped and cursed, bleeding momentum as they stopped short and hacked themselves free of the nettles snaring their limbs. By the time they could renew their attack, Vesper and Saber were ready for them.  
  
Sonya danced through the swarm, wielding blades of focused air between her fingers as sharp as any dagger. She tore out wrists, stomachs, knees, throats, the wind singing at her command. Axes glinted as they came chopping down. Sonya punched her fist into her palm, a cushion of air shoving back her attackers. She opened her arms and twirled, in a display of deadly elegance. A wheel of focused air shot down the space between the two ships, scything through the array of grapple lines in one clean stroke.  
  
Sonya grinned. She turned, and found Shade in the crowd, an eyebrow raised as if she were almost impressed. Sonya chuckled, and blew her a kiss.  
  
Yuzu cried out, drawing both women’s eyes across the deck. Yuzu got a running start, wind and shadows coiling around her feet. Sonya and Shade launched her through the air on a magicked breeze and a rising pillar of solidified darkness.  
  
Yuzu soared through the air, her coat flaring out like wings. Through the mist, the ghost ship loomed, and rose up to meet her-- along with an astonished pirate, axe at his side, jaw agape.  
  
Yuzu cleaved him apart, shoulder to hip, and hit the deck at a roll. She rose from her crouch and threw her arm aside, dropping two more pirates in a spray of shuriken. Up close, unobscured by the fog, Yuzu saw that this ship was unlike any she’d ever seen-- the deck made not of wood, but some sort of dark, glossy tile, slick with seawater.  
  
Curious, to be sure. But there were ghouls emerging from belowdecks, empty eyes fixed on the intruder in their midst, and Yuzu quickly had more important things to think about.  
  
Yuzu’s sword flashed in her hands, mirroring the magic flashing over her head. A hail of conjured arrows shot through the air and tore into the ghost ship’s black sails. An instant later, lightning split the sky, and a jagged, acid-yellow bolt scored a burning line down another black sail.  
  
“Ha! Take that, fuckers!” Mae crowed, while Boey shook his head with a weary fondness and sent another volley of Sagittae streaking through the fog.  
  
“Pirates. It’s always pirates,” Mae rolled her eyes, electricity crackling between her fingers as a magic circle spun into place at her feet. “Please. Is that the best they can throw at us?”  
  
Mae unleashed another searing bolt of lightning from her fingertips. The Thorn lurched beneath her feet, and she yelped, the bolt falling short of the sails and instead dragging across the deck. Yuzu swore and dove aside as the wild, jumping bolt seared into the deck, blasting revenant pirates into ash and dust. Yuzu got up, shooting Mae a glare.  
  
Mae winced. “Uh. Oops.”  
  
Another tremor shivered the deck beneath them, a gurgling rumble like distant thunder.  
  
Boey blinked. “...Tell me that was your stomach.”  
  
“That wasn’t me!” Mae cried.  
  
Across the span, Yuzu cried out as the deck lurched beneath her. The ghost ship seemed to tremble as the fog parted around it, its shredded black sails hanging limp in the breeze. Then, after another rumbling groan…  
  
It began to rise.  
  
It rose out of the sea, streaming cascades of water and the tumbling corpses of its crew. A vast shadow, dwarfing the Thorn by far, and only continuing to grow…  
  
Yuzu slid across the slick deck, hapless pirates falling past and vanishing into the waves. She reached out, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the stony tile. With another great shudder, Yuzu lost her grip. For one, breathless moment, she was falling, falling...  
  
Yuzu plunged her sword into the now-vertical deck and grimaced as she dragged herself to a halt, her arms all-but-numb from the strain. Hanging from her sword, her coat falling like a curtain around her form, Yuzu opened her eyes--  
  
\--and saw a slitted green eye gazing back.  
  
Yuzu, a young woman who prided herself on her steadfast courage, felt her heart stop in her chest.  
  
_“Dragon,”_ she eked out, aghast.  
  
The beast flicked its head with the utmost disdain and hurled her through the air.  
  
“Yuzu!” Shade shrieked.  
  
Sonya called up the wind to catch Yuzu in its embrace. Yuzu still crashed into her arms and smashed her off her feet, Yuzu’s sword clattering onto the deck. Shade cried out in anguish, running to their sides.  
  
Beside them, the Dragonflight was stunned, staring up at the behemoth emerging from the depths.  
  
Mae gulped, fear stealing the color from her face. “I… I just-- I just had to open my mouth, huh?”  
  
“That’s not a ship,” Boey muttered, stating the obvious because he didn’t know what else to say.  
  
Genny stared up at the beast risen from the water. Its scales, like a deck of stony, sea-slick tile. The fleshy fins they’d mistaken for black sails. The tinge of violet flame lapping at the edges of its sea-green eyes, slitted with anger. The legion of drowned dead, animated by a fell power who knew how long ago, living like ticks under its skin.  
  
Not a ship. Not a ship at all.  
  
While Genny stood on the Thorn, frozen to the deck with an ancient, primal terror…  
  
Leviathan, Lord of the Storm, opened its fanged maw and bellowed out a roar.  
  
Genny whimpered, frightened tears pricking her eyes. But she felt a strong hand on her shoulder, protectively pulling her back-- and saw the shock of red hair before her, glinting in the light like a crown.  
  
**_“Burn!”_**  
  
Celica thundered the word like a commandment, the brand on her palm shining like the sun. Trails of fire snaked through the sky, gathering into a radiant swirl that plunged down into Leviathan’s jaws. The world erupted into light and color, Leviathan vanishing in an inferno of shining, iridescent flame.  
  
The blast was so intense that it flash-dried the tears on Genny’s cheeks. Celica stood before her, hands outstretched like a goddess of war, panting, her hair falling across her eyes. Celica turned, and met Genny’s gaze, flashing her a reassuring smile.  
  
Then Leviathan emerged from the blaze, smoke weeping between its teeth. It snarled and dove, its huge jaws snapping down--  
  
“No!” Genny cried, raising her staff.  
  
The pink light enshrouding the Thorn flared in intensity. Leviathan’s fangs scraped against the bubble of pink light, gouging ragged tears in the shroud-- but the barrier held. Leviathan’s maw glanced off the Thorn and instead plunged into the deep just beside it. The wave that rose in Leviathan’s wake slammed the Thorn aside, tipping the deck precariously and sending the crew stumbling off their feet.  
  
“Level us out!” Vesper called over the roaring waters. “No man or beast will sink my ship while a Saint sails upon it!”  
  
“Aye!”  
  
Sailors scurried to their stations. Genny paid them no heed-- she was standing, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as her tattered shield around the Thorn flickered and fought to reseal itself. She shuddered, clutching her staff as if it were the only thing keeping her standing.  
  
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and opened her eyes.  
  
“You okay?” Celica asked.  
  
“Celica…” Genny’s voice cracked. She darted into Celica’s arms. Celica gasped and pulled her close.  
  
“What do we do?” Genny whimpered into Celica’s throat. “What do we do?”  
  
“Shhh, Genny…” Celica swallowed hard, smoothing Genny’s hair against her scalp. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”  
  
Genny nodded. Celica took her by the shoulders, tipping her chin up until their eyes met.  
  
“If I tell you we’ll make it, will you believe me?” Celica asked.  
  
Genny let out a haggard breath. “...Yes. Always.”  
  
Celica held her tight.  
  
“We’ll make it. We have to.”  
  
Leviathan emerged from the depths, sending another wave crashing upon the Thorn. The Thorn lurched and dipped, seawater sprayed the deck-- but Genny and Celica held each other tight and stood tall before the behemoth in the mist.  
  
Faye, on the other hand, went skittering across the slick deck, only stopping when a pair of strong arms looped around her waist and helped her up.  
  
“Thanks,” she said, glancing over her shoulder and expecting a sailor-- only to jump in surprise.  
  
“Silque! What are you doing here?”  
  
Silque didn’t respond-- she was staring, wide-eyed, at Leviathan in the distance, framed with mist and the faintest aura of violet flame.  
  
“Silque,” Faye repeated. Silque blinked.  
  
“What? Yes.”  
  
“What are you doing up here?” Faye pressed. “I thought you were going to stay in the cabin!”  
  
“It’s no safer belowdecks,” Rinea said softly. She, too, was gazing up at Leviathan, her arms folded across her chest. The scarring across her arms glinted strangely in the light, and Rinea shivered, brow furrowed in thought. “...There’s something wrong here…”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding,” Faye said, jerking her head towards the enormous sea dragon that made the Thorn look like a toy.  
  
“No,” Rinea insisted, as skirls of pale blue light flitted across her scars. Across the deck, the gem set in Genny’s staff grew murky and clouded, and the anti-magic wards on Saber’s greaves and gauntlets began to crackle in warning. Rinea’s eyes flashed.  
  
“There’s something _here_.”  
  
And, as if on cue, the clouds parted, and a light shone through. Not sunlight, or moonlight, but an eerie, false light, dazzling and yet somehow _wrong_ , painting the world in monochrome for the span of a single, bated breath. A strange crackling filled the air, like lightning, or chittering insects, building to an otherworldly crescendo.  
  
And as Leviathan opened its maw in another ear-splitting roar, ready to devour the Thorn and everyone upon it, a star fell from the sky.  
  
It struck Leviathan like a meteor and slammed them both into the sea.  
  
The cataclysmic impact sent an enormous wave towering above the ship, threatening to crush the Thorn beneath its tremendous weight. Vesper shouted orders. Sailors went running.  
  
Rinea stepped forward, unafraid. Memories of a sleeping power bubbled up to the surface, and an aura of pale blue light shimmered into place around her form. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and swiped them aside.  
  
A shockwave of power tore the wave in two. The sundered halves crashed down on either side of the Thorn, but the ship remained remarkably intact.  
  
Rinea herself, however, fell to her knees, crackling blue light arcing up her scarred arms.  
  
“Rinea!” Silque cried, dropping down beside her.  
  
“I’m alright,” Rinea shivered, wiping blood from her nose. “I’m alright…”  
  
“Are _we_ alright?” Faye wondered.  
  
It was hard to say. Leviathan loomed up out of the abyss, trailing streams of seawater. And another creature rose up in opposition, the one that fell from the sky, wreathed in white light: a pale, blue-green dragon, smaller and sleeker than the ancient sea dragon, but whose eyes blazed a hellish red. The red-eyed dragon roared out its challenge. Leviathan raised a clawed fist and floored the young upstart with a straight punch, sending him crashing back down into the waves.  
  
Not the worst, as far as diversions went.  
  
“Miss Shade!” Genny called. “Give us some cover!”  
  
Shade gave one last lingering look at Sonya and Yuzu, unconscious on the deck, before raising her sickle-headed staff. She traced a pattern in the air in pulsing violet light, before striking her staff against the deck.  
  
The shadows darkened upon the deck of the Thorn, strands of darkness coiling together as if woven into a cloak. A curtain of shadow shrouded the Thorn, shining pink barrier and all.  
  
Leviathan roared in indignation as its prey seemingly disappeared. A beam of chilling cold struck it square in the face, channeled out of the younger dragon’s mouth. Leviathan snarled its scorn and cracked its foe in the face with a meaty fist. Again, the young dragon tumbled into the waves, the beam flailing, wild, leaving trails of flash-frozen ice wherever it touched.  
  
At the helm of the Thorn, Vesper threw the ship hard to port. They braked into a drift, ice crunching into the hull. There was a series of sharp cracks, followed by an ominous creak and gushing spray.  
  
“Cap’n!” A sailor called, racing up from below. “We’re taking on water!”  
  
Vesper grit her teeth, shaking her head. “They don’t need to see us to sink us…”  
  
The two dragons clashed above them, sending waves crashing around them with every monstrous blow. The dragons roared in defiance, beams blazing out of their throats-- a flood of cascading water smashing into a pillar of frigid cold. The beams collided and sent shards of ice flying in every direction. Icicles punched into Genny’s barrier and tangled into the black velvet of Shade’s concealment spell, biting into the Thorn’s hull like shrapnel and sending the Dragonflight ducking, scurrying for cover.  
  
“Damn it all, Mae!” Boey hissed, frantic, icicles pinging against a conjured barrier as he crouched on the deck. “‘Oh, it’s pirates! It’s always pirates! Is that the best they can throw at us?’ It turns out, no, it isn’t! Now there are two dragons out there!”  
  
“I’m _sorry_ , okay?!” Mae screeched. “This is what I get for opening my big…”  
  
Mae stopped short, blinking, as the realization hit her. She lifted her head, eyes locked on Leviathan’s fanged maw, and the beam of cascading water rushing out of it.  
  
“...mouth…” Mae blinked. She furrowed her brows, resolute, leaping to her feet.  
  
“Mae!” Boey cried in alarm.  
  
Mae stood, heedless of the storm of icy shards hailing down around her. She raised her hands, power inscribing itself in a runic circle at her feet and rising, pooling in her hands.  
  
Mae’s eyes flashed.  
  
**_“Lightning!”_**  
  
The white-hot bolt leapt from Mae’s fingertips and shot across the sky-- not for Leviathan’s armored scales, but for the lightning rod of a geyser shooting out of its mouth. The bolt surged through Leviathan’s beam and arced into its body, lighting up the night with its sizzling, arcing throes. Leviathan roared in pain and indignation, shuddering, convulsing, shedding the twitching corpses of dozens of electrified revenants like caked dirt falling from its scales.  
  
Leviathan’s beam faltered, and the red-eyed dragon pressed its advantage, blasting Leviathan in the face with a beam of polar wind. The beam of frigid cold slapped Leviathan into the surf, skeins of frost creeping along its face. Leviathan gave one last bark of frustration, before slipping away beneath the waves. Its challenger, the cerulean dragon with fire in its eyes, bellowed its victory across the water.  
  
And then, to Mae’s dismay, it turned to face the Thorn.  
  
Mae glanced sidelong at Genny, and at Shade, whose concealment spell she’d broken by firing a bolt of lightning through the cloak-- hardly inconspicuous. She looked up at the young dragon, meeting its hellish red gaze.  
  
“...Uh… h-hey, big guy!” Mae chuckled nervously. “So, uh… if you’re the enemy of our enemy… does… that make us friends?”  
  
He roared in her face. Mae yelped, and went right back to hurling thunderbolts.  
  
“Fuck! Fuck!” Mae shrieked, her bolts flashing across the dragon’s scaly hide. “His armor’s too thick! I can’t get through!”  
  
Boey grit his teeth, scanning the crowd.  
  
“Faye!” Boey called. “Faye, come here! And give me an arrow! I have a plan!”  
  
Faye came running. Above her, the dragon’s eyes blazed with hatred, and a ghostly white aura began gathering in its throat…  
  
“You’re sure this will work?!” Mae cried above the crashing waves.  
  
“I can do it!” Faye called. “I just need one clear shot!”  
  
“Everyone get down!” Saber cried.  
  
“All hands, brace for impact!” Vesper called.  
  
The dragon roared. A pillar of deathly cold surged out from its maws and descended upon the Dragonflight like the ghostly specter of Death itself.  
  
Celica was the first to meet it, Beloved Zofia raised high. A blast of summoned fire rose up to meet the flood of ice. The dragon’s breath flinched, but came on regardless.  
  
The ray of frost crashed against Genny’s dome of shining pink light. Genny cried out, clutching her staff with trembling fingers. She felt the force slamming into her barrier like a physical weight on her shoulders. Her arms shook with effort. Sweat dripped down her brow, and she slid backwards against the deck, fighting to hold her ground.  
  
She bumped into something with a gasp. Genny glanced over her shoulder and saw Saber, his back pressed against hers, anchoring her in place. She saw Sonya and Yuzu, bleary-eyed but awake, standing at her side.  
  
Genny grit her teeth. She raised her staff, pink light blazing like a star.  
  
The frost beam squealed against the barrier like wet glass. The shield flickered, but held, Genny fighting for every stolen moment, one second more, two…  
  
Silque tapped her staff against Genny’s, resonating with a chime. Ribbons of pale blue snaked into the Genny’s pink barrier, giving it the color of twilight and renewed strength. A third staff joined them-- Shade, reinforcing the barrier with tendrils of shadow that coiled through the twilight like the roots of a great tree.  
  
The beam flashed against the dome of light, frost creeping across the shield. Despite their combined efforts, cracks began to form-- an ominous, creaking spiderweb that grew and grew…  
  
Rinea rose up, wreathed in blue light. She reached up towards the beam of frost cascading against the Dragonflight’s barrier, water magic thrumming in her aching fingers. She hooked her fingers together, as if they were woven thread, and then swiped them apart.  
  
Power exploded across the waves like a thunderclap. Rinea screamed and fell to the deck, clutching her scarred arms to her chest. The red-eyed dragon recoiled in disbelief, its beam of frigid wind dispelled for just an instant.  
  
Faye took her shot.  
  
Her arrow struck the dragon dead center in his slitted, hellish red eye.  
  
The dragon roared in pain and fury, thrashing in the waters.  
  
An arrow is a tiny target-- one that Mae would never bet on hitting in the middle of a storm. But thanks to Boey’s enchantment, in the shadows of astral space, Faye’s arrow shone like a star--  
  
\--or a lightning rod.  
  
A bolt of white-hot lightning surged past the dragon’s armored scales and right into its vulnerable eye, channeled into its skull by Boey’s enchanted arrow, planted there by Faye’s impeccable aim.  
  
The dragon sank, convulsing, into the waves, as the Thorn raised its sails and sped away.  
  
~*~  
  
Pain.  
  
Pain. Water. Cold.  
  
Pain. Salt. Sand.  
  
Voices.  
  
“Oi, oi! Look what we’ve got ‘ere! Some poor bastard got shipwrecked, I reckon.”  
  
The boy groaned. His vision blurred, shapes and shadows slowly refocusing. Something was wrong. The world looked… wrong. Flat, or off-center, or…  
  
He only had one eye.  
  
The realization stunned him. He took a seething breath, but lay still.  
  
“Well, come on, then, let’s see what he’s got!”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
A third voice. Younger, meeker than the two gruff voices before.  
  
“Hey! What are you guys doing?”  
  
“Beat it, kid! Mind your own business!”  
  
“You’re gonna rob him? You’re gonna rob someone who washed up on the beach? That’s low.”  
  
“I said beat it, kid! He doesn’t need it anymore…”  
  
He growled, deep in his throat. Or he tried to, before abruptly hacking up a lungful of seawater onto the beach. He rasped, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He took a ragged breath, his bangs hanging in wet clumps in front of his eyes.  
  
The men recoiled, swearing.  
  
“Fuck! It’s a live one!”  
  
He stood up, panting. He reached up around his neck, only to find a leather cord, broken and dangling. Out of the corner of his good eye, he saw a glint of teal. He snarled.  
  
“Give. That. Back.”  
  
The boy spoke up, further up the beach.  
  
“Come on, guys, leave him alone.”  
  
“No, no, let ‘im talk,” one of the thugs said. The other held up his prize, just out of reach. A gemstone, the size of an egg, that glinted with a faint teal light.  
  
“This sure is a nice rock, boy,” the second thug said. “What’s it worth to-- hurk!”  
  
The man seized and went still. He hit the ground with a thud, a bloody hole through his throat.  
  
His partner cried out in alarm, fumbling for his own blade. The stranger plunged his dagger into the man’s belly and then tore his stomach out. The man uttered a horrid shriek as he slumped onto the beach, left to die a slow death amid a spreading pool of gore.  
  
The stranger glanced towards the boy on the pier. He jumped, raising his hands.  
  
“...I-I don’t want any trouble,” he said.  
  
The stranger studied him with his lone, crimson eye. He sniffed, dipped his dagger into the tide and wiped it clean, the blade pale and gleaming as if it were carved from bone. He knelt over the dead men and retrieved the stone. It truly was a beautiful gem. But now, there was a deep crack down the middle, all but splitting it in two.  
  
He scowled. He looped the cracked stone back onto the leather cord around his neck, tied a new knot, and tucked it away.  
  
The boy took a step backward. In an instant, the stranger’s dagger was leveled at his chest, without even turning to look.  
  
“I’m not done with you. I still have use for you, child.”  
  
“‘Child’?” The boy balked, mustering his courage. “H-How old are _you_ supposed to be?”  
  
The stranger shot him a look, and the boy quickly shut up.  
  
“What is your name?” The stranger asked.  
  
The boy swallowed hard. “...Beau. A fisherman’s son, like pretty much everyone here, although my brother went off to work for the church--”  
  
“Enough,” the stranger snapped. He scanned the beach, lifting his gaze to the port, and beyond, to the rolling pastures and the monastery on the hill overlooking the town.  
  
“What is this place?” the stranger wondered.  
  
“Novis,” Beau stammered. “Novis Island. We’re mostly fishers and shepherds here, but there’s a church up on that hill, bunch of do-gooders. A shrine to the High Dragons.”  
  
The stranger lifted his head, intrigued. “...Show me.”  
  
Beau glanced down to the dagger in the stranger’s hands, and gulped.  
  
“...Y-Yeah, sure. You, uh… you got a name?”  
  
The stranger glowered at him with his one good eye, his bangs draped across the streak of gore where his other eye had been. He reached up, and pulled up the hood of his traveling cloak, stiff with seawater and speckled with blood.  
  
He sheathed his dagger at his belt, and Beau saw that there was something else hanging there-- not, as he’d first assumed, a second dagger, but a flute.  
  
The stranger’s eye flashed in the darkness of his hood-- a singular, hellish red.  
  
“Call me Noah.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Alright, how bad is it?” Celica asked, on the lower deck of the Thorn.  
  
“Not as good as you’d like, but not as bad as you’d think,” Boey said.  
  
“What the hell does _that_ mean, Boey?” Mae asked.  
  
“It means we’re still alive,” Boey said dryly.  
  
Boey gestured around them, to the deep gouges cut into the hull by scraping ice during their encounter with Leviathan. A pale green aura emanated from his staff, and seeped into the hull of the Thorn. The damaged wood, with a little nudge from Boey’s magic, was pulling itself together and plugging the gaps in the hull.  
  
“I have it patched, for now,” Boey said. “But I wouldn’t trust this to hold up without me standing here all day to maintain the seal. We need to stop and get some proper repairs.”  
  
“Good thing we’ll be arriving soon,” Celica smiled, and gave Boey a pat on the arm. “I’ll go tell the Captain. Until then, I trust you can keep yourself occupied?”  
  
“Of course,” Boey smiled.  
  
Celica clasped Boey’s hand, before sauntering away. Boey watched her go with a fond, wistful smile, before turning around and jumping when he saw Mae perched beside him.  
  
“So, you gotta stand here and pump magic into this seal all day or we’re all gonna drown, huh?” Mae asked, cheeky.  
  
“It appears that way, yes,” Boey said.  
  
“So… you’re stuck with me?” Mae grinned.  
  
Boey rolled his eyes.  
  
~*~  
  
Celica emerged onto the deck of the Thorn to see Vesper at the wheel with a noble expression on her face, and Genny, gazing wistfully out across the sea. A devilish smirk crossed Celica’s lips, one totally unbefitting of royalty. She snuck up behind Genny and grabbed her by the shoulders.  
  
“Boo!”  
  
“Wahh!” Genny whirled around. She pouted. “Celica!”  
  
“Sorry,” Celica smiled, sheepish. “I couldn’t resist.”  
  
Celica joined Genny at the rail she was leaning against, curling an arm around her shoulders and holding her close. Genny leaned into her, nuzzling.  
  
“You okay?” Celica murmured.  
  
“Just thinking,” Genny shrugged. “Mother’s been too… ‘busy’ to talk lately,” Genny said, air quotes and all, “and I can’t write in my diary without getting seasick, so I’ve just been kinda standing out here, daydreaming.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? Missing someone special?” Celica asked, with a knowing grin.  
  
Genny jabbed an elbow into her ribs. “Not like that.”  
  
Genny’s expression clouded. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her crossed arms.  
  
“...Who were those dragons…?” Genny wondered.  
  
“Well, one of them, at least, was this mysterious ‘ghost ship’...” Celica blew out a sigh. “But, I mean. The other one fell out of a magic circle in the sky. Who knows what the story is behind _that_.”  
  
“I’m just… worried,” Genny said. “They were so… beyond us. We couldn’t do anything.”  
  
“We survived,” Celica said. “That’s not nothing.”  
  
Genny smiled. “...You always know what to say…”  
  
A tender moment passed between them, Genny curled safely in the crook of Celica’s arm, clinging to Celica’s waist like they were both ten years younger.  
  
“Celica?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Celica beamed, reaching up and ruffling Genny’s hair. Genny breathed out a sigh, gazing out across the water.  
  
“...I still wonder if you should be the one leading the Dragonflight, instead of me,” Genny said softly.  
  
Celica frowned. “Genny, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, but--”  
  
A shout came from the rigging above.  
  
“Land ho!” the lookout called.  
  
Celica breathed out through her nose, changing tack. “...Hey, come on. We’ll be back on Novis soon. That’s something to look forward to, right?”  
  
A deep crimson light bloomed across the horizon, the first sign of sunrise. Genny chuckled, and smiled, gazing out across the crimson water.  
  
“...It’ll be nice to see my sheep again. I wonder if they’ve missed me.”  
  
“Genny, you’re a sheep,” Celica teased.  
  
Genny giggled, her hair bouncing. “Stop…”  
  
Crimson continued to spread across the sea. A sailor cried out in alarm, jumping down from the rigging and running up to Vesper’s side, whispering urgently in her ear.  
  
Genny bolted upright with a gasp, clutching Celica’s arm.  
  
“No…” she breathed.  
  
Novis Island loomed in the distance, haloed by a bloody sunrise. Flocks of seagulls fluttered above the docks, rows and rows of sails filled the piers.  
  
But the seagulls weren’t seagulls, with their huge, leathery wings and the blades clutched in their talons.  
  
The sails weren’t sails, the black, fleshy fins still ripped and flapping loosely, as the shadow of Leviathan circled Novis Island like a shark.  
  
And the red blooming across the water was more than just a sunrise.  
  
Looming on the horizon, with Terrors above and Leviathan below, Novis Island burned.  
  
~*~


	8. Firebrand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that Mila is in the rain, in the soil. Mila is earth and water. But Duma is fire and air, the elements of the forge, of hearth and home. Before Jedah and his ilk seized control of the Duma Faithful and twisted his teachings to suit their ends, the Faithful-- the true Faithful-- had a saying:
> 
> Mila provides. But Duma protects. 
> 
> Now, humble Sister Genny walks in the footsteps of the High Dragons, to heal with one hand and defend with the other. For now, her home is under attack, and it’s faith and family that will see her through.
> 
> On the horizon, Novis burns. But in their eyes, and in their hearts, so, too, do her children…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special shout-out to VegabondGloria for the use of her NPCs, the Dimitris family! And for the rest of you: buckle up, because you're in for a ride. Enjoy! ^^

~*~  
  
It looked, honest-to-gods, like the world was ending.  
  
A bloody sunrise rose over Novis Island, painting the world in a stark, hellish red. Shadows flitted across the sky-- flights of gargoyles, shrieking and cackling as they searched for victims in the crowded streets below. Black sails loomed on the horizon, cutting through the morning fog. Black sails meant pirates; pirates, Novis could deal with. But these pirates were unlike anything the island had ever seen-- revenants, ghouls, the drowned dead rising from the ocean, seawater cascading off their ragged forms, an unearthly fire blazing in their eyes.  
  
Teela Dimitris, mother of four, watched through her bungalow’s slitted blinds as a trio of revenants rose out of the water and shambled past, clutching rusting axes in their emaciated hands. She scowled, the air ringing with clashing blades, panicked shouts and screams.  
  
Someone screamed, closer, much closer. Teela whirled around, ready to fight-- only to see her daughter, little Hope, giggling bashfully and raising her arms to be picked up.  
  
Teela sighed and rolled her eyes. She scooped Hope up and hugged her to her shoulder, keeping an eye out the window, listening to the fighting in the distance. Novis Island didn’t have much by way of formal defenses, but it _was_ a port city filled with mercenaries who made their living running escort against pirate attack. So maybe…  
  
There was a crash. The door burst open, and Teela grabbed the first thing at hand.  
  
“Wahhh!” shrieked her husband, Tom, screeching to a halt just before he accidentally skewered himself on a boning knife.  
  
“Oh, for Mila’s sake, Tom, it’s just _me_ ,” Teela huffed, rolling her eyes. Hope climbed down from her perch against Teela’s shoulder and ran over to her father, clutching his legs.  
  
“Baba!” she called, cheerful even when the island was under siege.  
  
Teela flipped her knife in her hand and stuck it upright in the dining table.  
  
“How bad is it?” she asked.  
  
“Bad,” Tom replied, running a hand through his frazzled hair, prematurely gray. All the men in this family had gray or even white hair. Teela said it was because they were all such worrywarts.  
  
With gargoyles in the sky and revenants wading out of the ocean, for once in her life, Teela couldn’t blame them.  
  
“I ran into some Faithful outside,” Tom explained. “They’re trying to round everyone up and get us away from the coast, up towards the shrine. It’s getting too dangerous down here by the water.”  
  
Tom let out a startled shriek as a second person came bursting through the bungalow door, to Teela’s immediate chagrin. She yanked the knife out of the dining table and raised it threateningly.  
  
“I have a knife _right here_ \--!”  
  
“Mom!” A teenager came running inside, his shock of white hair glowing a fiery-red in the dawn light. “Mom, you gotta see this.”  
  
“Orie!” Teela snapped. “Where have you been?”  
  
“Mom, there are monsters outside! Like, _real_ monsters!” Orie insisted, his eyes wide. “What the hell is going on?!”  
  
“Watch your mouth, young man,” Teela cut in, stern.  
  
“Orie,” Tom offered, “where’s your brother?”  
  
“That’s what I’m saying,” Orie pressed, his brow pinched with worry. “He was on the beach, looking for sea glass or something. But now, there’s a whole bunch of monsters just walking right out of the ocean. We have to go find him!”  
  
Tom glanced up, a stricken look in his eyes. He hesitated, working his jaw.  
  
“We… we can’t. We need to move away from the beach, not towards it.” Tom swallowed hard. “Teela?”  
  
Teela felt the eyes of her family upon her, standing tall under the weight of their stares. She took a deep breath, and let it out slow.  
  
“...Get your things.”  
  
The Dimitris family emerged from their bungalow and onto the salty scrub and low grasses of the Novis coast. They filed out into the lengthening shadows, under a bloody red sky-- Orie hugging little Hope to his chest and a pack over his back, Teela with the small but viciously sharp boning knife clutched in her fist, Tom hefting a tied bundle of fishing harpoons.  
  
A slow, inexorable wave of drowned dead were shuffling their way up the beach. The Dimitris family slipped past the sea of gray skin and eerie, violet eyes, joining the trickling lines of other evacuees gathering further inland.  
  
Little by little, in huge families or in sole stragglers, an exodus was forming to lead Novis’ beachfront population further inland. Tom, Teela, Orie and Hope took their spot among the survivors, pushing through the crowd towards the light shining at its heart…  
  
“Do not be afraid! Mila provides!”  
  
A blonde cleric spoke, her voice crisp and clear above the shrieking of gargoyles overhead. She raised her staff aloft, shrouding the gathered refugees in a bubble of warm golden light.  
  
“Come to the light!” she called. “Have faith! Have no fear!”  
  
“Sister!”  
  
She blinked, searching for the voice. Teela shouldered her way through the crowd, a sheepish Tom muttering apologies at her heels, Orie and Hope just a step behind. The cleric’s eyes lit up.  
  
“Teela!” she gasped.  
  
They embraced, sighing in relief, before parting and tenderly clasping hands.  
  
“Irma,” Teela said, her face flicking from warmth to urgency. “Have you seen my son? Have you seen Beau?”  
  
Irma shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.”  
  
Teela stared at her, her heart sinking in her chest. She squeezed Irma’s hand, glancing back and meeting Tom’s wordless, anxious eyes.  
  
“He may have gone ahead,” offered a cleric beside her.  
  
“Yes, that’s right!” Irma gasped. “We’ve all been out and about, escorting refugees up the hill to the priory grounds. He could be with one of our other groups, on his way to safety. Oh, Teela, I’m certain he’ll be alright. Have faith.”  
  
Teela sighed, and smiled, squeezing Irma’s hand. “Thank you, Sister.”  
  
She glanced over to the cleric beside Irma. He seemed like a frail, dainty thing, all told, willowy and wiry, blinking owlishly behind a pair of spectacles, his long, dark hair graying at the temples. Teela peered at him suspiciously.  
  
“...Have we met, Father…?”  
  
“Lucien, ma’am.” He dipped his head. “I’m relatively new to this parish. Only been on the island a few months.”  
  
Teela glanced at the sash tied over his robes-- red, edged in gold, over white, a sharp contrast to Irma’s own muted dove-gray and forest green.  
  
“...You’re wearing Duma’s colors,” Teela said, not quite able to hide her distaste.  
  
“Yes. Well.” Lucien cleared his throat. “...Duma protects.”  
  
A piercing shriek split the air, and the shadow of wings flicked across the group. A flight of gargoyles descended, rusting scythes clutched in their talons, their jaws wide, spittle trailing from their fangs. The crowd recoiled, but Irma raised her voice above their fear.  
  
“Stand your ground!” Irma cried. “No daemon can enter here!”  
  
Irma raised her staff with a shout, and the dome of light encasing the crowd shone with renewed intensity. The flight of gargoyles dove into the aura but were slapped away by Irma’s radiance, rising back into the air, singed and smoking. Undeterred, the flight circled back around for another pass, stark shadows against the bloody sky.  
  
“Tenacious beasts…” Irma scowled, preparing to renew her barrier.  
  
“May I, Sister?” Lucien asked.  
  
Irma nodded, and offered her staff. Lucien reached up, reverently tracing a fingertip against the orb set within. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest, shining energy spiraling down Irma’s staff and gathering in points of light held like knives between his fingers.  
  
The flight of gargoyles dove once again, half a dozen frenzied daemons and a feast waiting below. They plunged into the midst of Irma’s barrier, heedless of the light searing their flesh and the smoke weeping from their wings. They shrieked, crimson blazing in their eyes.  
  
Daggers of light flew from Lucien’s hands. They flew, streaking towards the beasts like comets through the sky.  
  
The bolts burst against the winged daemons, blazing like fireworks, seemingly ineffective on their own-- but combined with the radiance of Irma’s barrier, some strange, arcane reaction bubbled up from within the gargoyles and erupted through their flesh. They exploded, immolated in holy fire, shrieking and convulsing as they burned to death in mid-air. They fell from the sky in trails of black smoke, and doused their ruined corpses in the sea.  
  
Lucien’s robe fluttered in the breeze, cast in the stark light of the burning gargoyles. He glanced up at the cliff where the priory sat, what felt like miles away. He heaved a weary, troubled sigh.  
  
“How are we going to do this…?” he wondered.  
  
“One step at a time,” Irma muttered, grave.  
  
Cries of alarm rippled up along the crowd. Drowned dead rose from the surf, fixed the crowd with their hateful stares, and began picking their way up through the beach. But Irma held her staff high, drawing the eyes of the crowd to her beacon and away from their fear.  
  
“Everyone!” she cried. “Follow me!”  
  
~*~  
  
“Get down!”  
  
Beau dropped prone with a yelp, his hands over his head. Something whistled over his head and impacted with a dense, wet crack. He gasped, flinching, as a revenant dropped face-down at his heels, an arrow between its eyes.  
  
Beau felt a hand around his arm roughly yanking him to his feet. He looked up and saw Noah, standing in his shadow, seeming smoky and insubstantial in the strange, flickering twilight.  
  
Shadows loomed in the bloody morning light, groaning and screeching. Arrows shot into the dark, a staccato of whistling impacts. Ghouls fell off the wharf and toppled back into the water.  
  
But there were more. So many more.  
  
Fear rooted Beau in place. Noah clamped an inhumanly strong hand around his wrist and yanked him out of the path of a falling axe. Another shadow swiped, claws glinting in the half-light.  
  
Beau cried out, frightened tears pricking his eyes, as a trio of ragged cuts slashed down his arm. Noah yanked him down, his bone-white dagger flashing in his hands. A pair of ghouls hit the boardwalk, black blood oozing from a slit throat and a punctured lung.  
  
Ahead, a handful of mercenaries were guarding the tavern, clutching their blades too tight, anxious eyes watching the pier. Noah hustled Beau past a pair of archers taking potshots into the morning fog, shoving Beau inside.  
  
Beau stumbled into the tavern, catching himself on the back of a chair. Dozens of frightened eyes snapped his way, friends, neighbors. A young woman rose at the sight of him, brushing dirt from the knees of her habit and urging Beau to let her examine his wound.  
  
“Is it bad?” Beau asked, wincing.  
  
Noah glowered at him, his lone crimson eye shining in the darkness of his hood.  
  
“It’s _nothing_ ,” Noah spat, clicking his dagger back into its sheath. “Don’t be so weak.”  
  
Beau swallowed hard, and lowered his gaze, letting the cleric roll up his tattered sleeve and clean his scratches. Something like regret flicked across Noah’s eye, and he glanced out the tavern blinds to Novis’ bloody sunrise and the shadows flicking across the skies.  
  
Gargoyles above. Revenants below. An island of frightened, useless mortals between him and his goal. They were mere pebbles in his path. It should have been easy for him to kick them aside.  
  
And yet. And yet…  
  
Noah reached into his shirt and pulled out the stone on its little length of leather cord. It shimmered faintly at his touch, running his thumb along the deep crack that nearly split the stone in two. His right eye twitched with phantom pain, gore smearing his cheek and tinging his pale hair red where it fell across the wound.  
  
Nuisances. Weaknesses. Mortal concerns.  
  
He scowled. He spared a glance to Beau and the cleric tending his wound, before gazing out the window with an eye as brilliant and bloody as the sky…  
  
Novis Island woke up expecting an ordinary morning and instead found themselves under siege. A symphony of violence sounded on the street-- cries of pain and fear, of clashing blades and rending claws. But here, with the tavern walls muffling the chaos outside and with armed guards at the door, there was a moment of what you could almost call peace.  
  
Almost.  
  
A young woman sat glumly at the bar, her chin resting on her crossed arms. She’d hardly expected to be spending her vacation with all this doom and gloom. She sighed, rapping her knuckles on the bar and breaking the tense, dreadful silence.  
  
“Can I get an ale?”  
  
The tavernkeep, who seemed more annoyed at the disruption to business than concerned for his life and the lives of his customers, simply met the girl’s request with a haughty sniff. She curled her lip, indignant, before pointedly clicking a silver mark on the counter and sliding it forward. The tavernkeep glanced up, met her eyes.  
  
“...I don’t serve ale to kids.”  
  
She blinked at him.  
  
“Well, good thing I’m not a kid. I’m a mercenary.”  
  
The tavernkeep scoffed. “I know every merc who comes through this port, and I ain’t never heard of you.”  
  
“They call me… Sky,” she said, with a daring smile. “You don’t know me yet. But you will.”  
  
The tavernkeep looked her up and down, a gangly girl, long-limbed and awkward, in a simple traveling coat, bracers, breeches, greaves, and a smile that spread like butter. He sighed, poured her a tankard, and clapped it down on the counter, pocketing her coin.  
  
“Oh, what the hell?” the tavernkeep muttered, shaking his head. “Go on. Drink. See if you can finish it before those monsters kill us all…”  
  
The door burst open, sending a wave of anxiety through the gathered refugees-- only for the panic to subside when it turned out to be the Faithful.  
  
Sister Irma stepped inside, drawing Noah’s inquisitive eye. The lone cleric tending the tavern’s wounded leapt up to greet them, clasping Irma’s hand and tugging her into an embrace with a gasp of relief. Irma patted her on the arm, before gently ushering her aside.  
  
“Your attention, please,” Irma announced. “I am Sister Irma of Novis Priory. Monsters have invaded the island, and these docks are no longer safe. I am gathering everyone I can find and leading them to take shelter from this attack on the priory grounds. For your safety, I urge you all to join us-- and I urge anyone armed and capable to help defend the column as we move.”  
  
Huddled figures exchanged questioning glances and worried murmurs, before rising and heading for the door. Irma and her fellow Sister began ushering families outside, joining the sprawling column filling the square. But soon enough, a panicked shout rose from the assembled crowd, and Sage Lucien came rushing in, shouldering past fleeing refugees.  
  
“Irma!” Lucien called. “The column has to pick up the pace. All hell is coming after us!”  
  
“Get everyone out,” Irma ordered. “As many as you can. We’re not leaving anyone behind if we can help it. Go! Go!”  
  
And just like that, the tavern’s semblance of quiet shattered. Civilians and mercenaries ran in opposite directions. People pushed and shoved and grabbed their loved ones by the hand to lead them through the press of bodies. People shouted in alarm, murmured in fear, held each other, wept. Then the first blades clashed, close, so close, and a fresh wave of terror swept across the crowd.  
  
“I need volunteers!” Irma called, fighting to be heard above the din. “I need volunteers, and I need them armed!”  
  
Sky took a deep breath. She looked down at her tankard, before grabbing it in both hands and downing it in one long chug. She slapped it down on the counter, letting out a sigh that was less satisfied and more just relieved it was over.  
  
“Liquid courage,” she muttered. “They should call it liquid… piss, the way it tastes. Or some other gross thing that isn’t already a liquid...”  
  
Sky heaved out a sigh. She scraped back her stool, grabbed the spear she’d left leaning against the bar, and leapt into the fray.  
  
The refugees gathered in the tavern spilled out onto the street, and Beau went with them, carried along by the press of bodies. He stumbled out into the town square, blinking, bewildered, searching the crowd surging around him. In the corner of his eye, Beau caught a glimpse of crimson. He saw Noah, a hooded phantom lurking on the edge of the crowd. Their eyes met, for just a moment. And then Noah was gone.  
  
Beau exhaled, relieved to be free of his menacing escort, but also swimming with questions as to who Noah was, what exactly he was searching for. But before he could think too hard about it, he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him from behind, almost knocking him off his feet.  
  
“Beau!” Orie cried out.  
  
“Orie!” Beau gasped, and wrapped his brother in a fierce hug. He felt something tugging at the hem of his shirt, looked down, and pulled little Hope up into his arms as well.  
  
“Where have you been? What happened to your arm?” Orie pressed.  
  
“I was on the beach. Uh, I got scratched. It’s fine,” Beau said quickly. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”  
  
Orie grimaced. He swallowed hard, fighting the lump of anxiety in his throat, and nodded towards the edge of the square.  
  
“...Sister Irma asked for volunteers…”  
  
Beau paled. He pushed Hope into Orie’s arms and fought against the tide of fleeing refugees, reaching out in vain.  
  
_“Mom! Dad!”_  
  
Even with a legion of drowned dead bearing down upon them, a precious few of Novis’ citizens stood tall. While the rest of the column followed the shining beacon of Irma’s staff up towards the shelter of the priory grounds, Lucien stood before the tidal wave of shrieking, snapping ghouls, his robes billowing in the seaborne breeze-- red, white, and gold.  
  
Lucien raised a sword in one hand, the other held with two fingers raised in blessing. Lucien murmured under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration, and swiped his fingers down the flat of the blade. Searing red light flowed down his fingers and etched an inscription into the steel, the sword shining strangely in the ruddy twilight.  
  
Lucien raised his sword aloft, and paced the line of Novis’ ragtag defenders, mercenaries and militia, tapping his blade against theirs. Red light flashed as their blades made contact, suffusing their weapons with a portion of that aura, glowing like lit coals.  
  
At the end of the line, Sky raised her spear in salute and solemnly accepted Lucien’s blessing. Lucien tapped his sword against her spearhead. A wisp of red fire set her blade alight, spiraling down past the pink ribbon tied around the haft and curling around her fingers, filling her with some small measure of courage, warmth.  
  
Sky met his eyes and nodded. He clapped a fatherly hand on her shoulder and kept moving.  
  
Sky turned, scanning the chaotic rabble of revenants swarming up the beaches towards the square, and the double-file line of ragtag militia that was only slightly more organized. She met the eyes of the duo beside her in the formation-- a fisherman, and a housewife. She flashed them a grin.  
  
Tom and Teela nervously returned her smile. They glanced down at their weapons-- a fishing harpoon and a kitchen knife, shining red with a priest’s blessing. They swallowed hard, staring down the encroaching horde.  
  
Lucien took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He raised his sword in salute, an aura of fire dancing along the blade.  
  
“Duma protects,” he murmured, so only he could hear. Then, raising his voice above the shrieking of the swarm:  
  
“People of Novis! For your home, and for everyone you hold dear, hold this line and _deny them!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
Novis Island fought for its life under a bloody sunrise, determined to go down swinging. But as courageous a stand as its motley defenders could muster, even with the blessing of the Mila Faithful allowing even militia with improvised weapons to pierce the magicked hide of daemons, the fall of Novis loomed ever closer. Shredded black sails, now known to be fins, circled the island in a deathbed vigil.  
  
Leviathan lurked in shallow waters, waiting for the feast.  
  
It was only a matter of time.  
  
Revenants rose from the water, marching up beaches, climbing up wharfs and piers, overrunning the port. Years and years of drowned dead, lost to storm, shot, and shell, animated by the foul magic emanating from Leviathan’s form, a toxic aura that poisoned everything it touched. The dead were rising to turn Novis into a mass grave.  
  
But it wasn’t over yet.  
  
Leviathan circled the island, languid, lazy, as if confident in the inevitability of its victory and the feast that would follow. But as its black fins slipped behind the island, just out of sight of the port city...  
  
A star fell from the sky.  
  
It struck the Novis coast in an explosion of golden fire, obliterating a cluster of ghouls outright and hurling their fellows off their feet. Fire blazed across the pier, unfurling like a flower in bloom.  
  
And then Celica rose from her crouch, haloed in golden fire, and the Thorn emerged from the haze behind her, shedding the shadows like a cloak. She rested her hand on the hilt of Beloved Zofia, driven into the ground after a running leap from the Thorn’s bow, embers dancing in the air, eyes blazing with purpose. And then she offered her hand, and gently, almost daintily, helped Genny down off the ramp.  
  
Genny stepped onto the pier, her skirts swaying in the breeze, her staff shining with a pale pink light. She met Celica’s eyes, and a host of feeling passed between them in an instant. They turned, together, raising their eyes to the beach swarming with ghouls and the priory on the cliffs above.  
  
The dazed crowd of revenants around them were slowly scrabbling to their feet. Celica and Genny linked their fingers together with a squeeze, and Celica plucked Beloved Zofia from the sand.  
  
“Novis stands alone,” Celica said, reverent, grave.  
  
Genny struck her staff like a scepter against the ground. The dozen ghouls surrounding them vanished in a haze of vivid pink light, embers, and ash.  
  
“Not alone,” Genny said.  
  
Genny took a deep breath, and gave Celica’s hand one last squeeze. Celica was her sister. Her mentor. Her hero, if she was being completely honest. On any other day, she’d have been happy to let Celica take the lead. But here she was, at Celica’s side, her equal, a legion of undead before her and her family behind.  
  
With faith, and family, they could not fail.  
  
The crew spilled out of the Thorn and onto the boardwalk, the air thrumming with anticipation. Yuzu adjusted her bracers, bristling with rows of concealed shuriken. Silque pulled Faye’s cape to the side and slung a pair of extra quivers over her shoulder, stealing a kiss as she went. She pulled back, placing a hand on Rinea’s shoulder.  
  
“I won’t stay behind,” Rinea said, adamant.  
  
“I know,” Silque smiled. She gently tugged at Rinea’s sleeve, examining the frostbite-esque scars creeping further and further up her arms. She exhaled. “But no more magic, you hear me? It’s taking too much out of you. Stay close to me, or the Captain, alright?”  
  
Rinea nodded. Faye took her hand and gave it a fond squeeze, leaving a leather sheath in her grasp.  
  
“Take care of her,” Faye whispered, nodding towards Silque.  
  
“I will,” Rinea promised, clutching Faye’s trusty hunting knife to her chest.  
  
One by one, the Dragonflight fell in behind Genny on the boardwalk, gathering to the rosy pink beacon of her staff. Silque took her place on Genny’s left; Celica, at her right hand. Her sisters, in faith and for always. Silque raised her staff; Celica, her sword. They tapped Genny’s crystalline staff, a chime resonating across the shore, pale blue and fiery gold joining with Genny’s aura of brilliant pink.  
  
“For life,” Silque began.  
  
“For love,” Celica said.  
  
“For Novis,” Genny said, conviction flashing in her eyes. “Captain!”  
  
“Ready, my lady!” Vesper called.  
  
“Sister Silque will hold the coast. I need you and your men to keep her safe!”  
  
“Understood!”  
  
“Celica, clear us a path!” Genny called. “Everyone else, with me! _Let’s go!_ ”  
  
Celica took off at a run, Beloved Zofia shining in her hands. Ghouls fell at her feet, arrows through their skulls or weeping smoke from lightning blasts. She leapt, curling through the air in a somersault, her sword blazing like the sun.  
  
Golden fire exploded around her as she hit the ground, hurling charred revenants through the air. Celica emerged from the expanding fireball and cried out, raising her sword, the Dragonflight following at her heels.  
  
The swarm recoiled from the blaze, but would not be deterred so easily. They surged forward, a tidal wave of bodies pursuing the beacon of shining pink.  
  
Sonya dove into their midst, a violet-tailed comet, her cloak flying in the breeze. A gale of magicked wind exploded around her, blasting the forward ranks of ghouls off of their feet and stopping the swarm in its tracks.  
  
Coiling black bramble vines melted out of the shadows and twisted together into a barrier that cut the beach off from the rest of the island. Shade appeared at Sonya’s side in a pillar of black smoke, striking her sickle-headed staff against the sand. A forest of briars sprung up beneath her feet, thorny tendrils snagging drowned dead by the ankles and dragging them back down towards the water.  
  
Silque watched, impassive, as a revenant was dragged through the sand and flung into the shallows by a tendril of animated shadow, joining its countless peers still rising from the ocean floor. She took a deep breath, and sighed, closing her eyes.  
  
“Exalted Mila,” Silque began, reverent, “giver of life, giver of your bounty, and mother to us all…”  
  
Rinea watched, entranced, as Silque stepped towards the sea, her staff shining with a pale blue light. Veins of shimmering blue energy appearing beneath her with every step, anchoring her to the coast with roots of arcane power.  
  
“...On this beach, before Novis, Lady of the Waves, you proclaimed that love is a sanctuary. Now, here do I stand at the place of your union, where the land meets the sea. This do I pray, in your name, and in hers: may no evil set foot on this hallowed ground. May this island be our sanctuary! No evil may enter here! And to any of you wretched creatures who deign to try it, I, Sister Silque, shall _cast you out!_ ”  
  
Silque slammed her staff down. A wave of power shot across the shore, rippling the shallows and the legion of revenants therein. Light, blue and brilliant, bloomed beneath the surface of the water.  
  
The water sizzled, and began to burn. Ghouls cried out in pain and dismay, weeping smoke, consecrated water eating at their limbs like acid. They wailed and thrashed, pushing past their smouldering brethren for the safety of dry land. They burst onto the beach, the sand shining beneath their feet. As one, flames erupted across the ranks of undead, and they began to burn, a pale green fire joining the smoke rising from the water like seafoam.  
  
The invasion of Novis had slowed to a crawl. But still, they came. They shuffled, shambled, clawed and crawled their way up the beach, around and over the burning husks of their brethren, propelled by an unfathomable hatred.  
  
Silque opened her eyes, her lips pressed into a line. Though the tide was swiftly filling with wretched flesh and scorched bones, still, they came…  
  
Silque felt a hand on her shoulder. She glanced up, and met Vesper’s eyes as the captain stepped in front of her, her sailors dutifully following behind.  
  
“Alright, boys, you heard the Sister!” Vesper called. “Nothing gets beyond this beach!”  
  
“Aye, aye!” chorused her crew.  
  
Vesper drew her twin blades, glanced beside her with a smirk, and tapped one of her swords against Saber’s. He flashed her a daring grin.  
  
The horde was weakened and in disarray, smoke rising from their shins, green fire blazing across their bodies. Their shoulders buckled under the weight of Silque’s blessing, Novis itself rising up against its invaders. But the legion pressed forward, regardless, fetid claws glinting, axes in hand-- and the Dragonflight met them head on.  
  
“The tide is turning!” Vesper cried, beaming. “Forward! _Forward!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
“Fall back! Fall back!”  
  
Lucien called out, over the chorus of unearthly shrieking. He waved another set of stragglers up the hill towards the light radiating from the priory grounds. Seeing the tell-tale beacon of Irma’s staff was a cold comfort when the square was already overrun. Her group, at least, was safe. Who knew if his could say the same…  
  
A revenant groaned and clamped onto Lucien’s back, jaw poised to bite. He shoved it backwards with an elbow to its gut, and opened it up, shoulder to hip, in one clean stroke of his sword. Another revenant came running, and pounced onto Lucien’s arm. Lucien cried out and shoulder tackled the wretched creature into a tree. It crunched into the bark, stunned, and Lucien chopped its head off, his sword lodging in the tree trunk behind.  
  
Lucien muttered a curse and tried to free his blade from where it stuck fast in the wood. A third revenant came in swinging.  
  
It stopped short with a groan, its body seizing and going stiff. Lucien braced a sandal against the tree and pried his sword free, cleaving the revenant’s head clean off with a single two-handed stroke.  
  
Teela twisted her knife free from the ghoul’s spine and dropped its body to the ground. Lucien nodded to her in gratitude, and she turned, finding her husband in the crowd.  
  
“Tom, honey? How you doin’?”  
  
“Oh, well, you know…” Tom laughed, sheepish, shrill with nerves. A revenant shrieked beneath his feet. He planted a foot on its chest, yanked out his harpoon and stabbed again. And again. And again, just to be sure.  
  
Tom stood up straight, and blew out a rattled sigh. He swiped his arm across his brow.  
  
“Mom! Dad!”  
  
Orie and Beau burst out of hiding in an alley stacked full of barrels and came running across the square, little Hope held tight to Orie’s chest. Tom and Teela balked, just as a gargoyle shrieked and plunged into a dive…  
  
“Kids! Drop!” Teela barked.  
  
Beau did as he was told. Hope did, too, when Orie set her down and she ducked, her hands over her head, like this was all a game. But Orie had other plans. He looked his siblings in the eyes, and took a deep breath.  
  
The gargoyle descended upon them, fangs bared.  
  
Orie turned right around and punched it in the face.  
  
The gargoyle gave a rather astonished and undignified squawk, falling out of the air and skipping across the ground like a stone across a pond. It landed in a crumpled, dazed heap. Orie had just enough time to crow in triumph, amazed that that actually worked, when the gargoyle pulled itself off the ground, hissed, and dove at him once again.  
  
Orie flinched, reflexively pulling his siblings behind him. The gargoyle lunged--  
  
\--but stopped short, wings flapping uselessly, a barbed harpoon caught in the meat of its thigh.  
  
Tom cried out, grabbed the line attached to his thrown harpoon, and pulled it taut. The gargoyle slammed face down in the cobblestones, flailing and fighting to get free. Teela got a running start and pounced, leaping onto the gargoyle’s back. She crunched her knee between its shoulder blades, and drove her knife into its neck.  
  
“Are you alright?!” Tom asked, frantic, scooping all three of them into a bear hug. Orie fondly swatted at him, grinning.  
  
“Alright, alright, enough hugging,” Orie said.  
  
“That was a great punch,” Beau said, proud.  
  
“Owie made an owie!” Hope announced.  
  
“Yeah…” Orie muttered, rubbing his bruised knuckles. He reached over and laid a fond hand in Hope’s short, downy hair. “...got him right in the teeth, too, so it was an owie for both of us.”  
  
“Beau!” Teela snapped. “Where have you been?!”  
  
Beau blinked, bracing for a scolding. “Uh. I was… on the bea--”  
  
He wheezed as Teela pulled him into a backbreaking hug, Tom wrapping his arms around them both. Teela touched her forehead to his, before pulling away, heaving out a worried sigh.  
  
“What are you kids still doing down here?” Teela asked. “I thought I told you to go with Sister Irma!”  
  
“I know, but--” Orie huffed in protest. “I couldn’t just leave you behind!”  
  
“Hey! Are you guys okay?”  
  
The Dimitris family looked up as Sky came jogging over, spear in hand. Over her shoulder, they saw Lucien throw a handful of light magic into the faces of half a dozen ghouls. Light burst like firecrackers, stunning the hollow-eyed undead for a few precious moments as Lucien pulled a child from the rubble and sent her running off to her parents.  
  
“I saw your punch,” Sky said, by way of greeting, holding up her fist. “That was pretty rad.”  
  
“Oh, um. Thanks,” Orie said, suddenly shy, awkwardly returning her fist bump.  
  
Teela looked Sky up and down, before shaking her head with a sigh. “...As I was saying, Orie. Take your siblings and get up that hill to the priory grounds. It isn’t safe here, and I won't sit in safety while a child fights for my life!”  
  
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Sky grinned. “I’ll have you know, I’m a whole twenty-two years old, and I’m a war veteran three times over, believe it or not. So, I’m not a child. I’m a soldier.”  
  
Tom and Teela exchanged looks. Tom cleared his throat.  
  
“A child soldier,” he said gently, “is still a child.”  
  
Sky winced, rubbing the back of her head. “...Okay, well, there’s a lot to unpack there and I really don’t think we have the time, so--”  
  
A sudden tremor shivered the ground beneath their feet, and Sky wobbled, dropping into a crouch. She watched, intrigued, as thin tendrils of shimmering green light flickered beneath the packed earth-- and clapped her hands over her ears when something out there let loose a massive, anguished roar.  
  
Tom and Teela, huddled protectively around their children, searched the skyline with wide eyes, hunting for the source of the sound. Sky swallowed hard, and got to her feet.  
  
“...We need to get up that hill,” Sky said, deathly serious.  
  
“Yeah,” Teela nodded, aghast. She bundled Hope against her shoulder, took Tom’s hand with a squeeze, and they ran, their sons in tow.  
  
They raced across the town square, already swarming with ghouls, Lucien, Sky, and a handful of militia guarding their backs. They beat a fighting retreat to the mouth of the square, and the road leading up to the priory grounds, ghouls snapping at their heels.  
  
They broke onto the cliffside trail, only to be accosted from above. Gargoyles shrieked and dove for them, jaws snapping, rusty scythes clutched in their paws.  
  
Hope wailed in alarm. Teela hugged her to her chest, grit her teeth, fingers clenched tight around the knife in her hands.  
  
An arrow punched through the gargoyle’s jaw from below and nailed its mouth shut. It shuddered and died, its momentum carrying it right into the cliff face. Its broken body smashed against the rocks and then tumbled off the road and into the woods below.  
  
Behind the fleeing column, they saw a militia member nocking another arrow, and Sky, urgently waving them up the hill.  
  
“Go!” she called. “Go!”  
  
Another arrow thudded into a gargoyle’s skull, its brethren shrieking their vengeance. The archer took aim, and loosed another shot. The flight of gargoyles parted around the arrow and dove, fangs glinting in the light.  
  
Sky stepped forward, grit her teeth, and readied her lance. When the flight of gargoyles descended, screeching, jaws snapping, Sky caught the first gargoyle right in the throat. The second gargoyle clipped her with its talons, opening a scratch on her arm and spinning her to the ground. The third, fourth, and fifth plucked the hapless archer off the ground and tore into him with their teeth, hurling his bloodied corpse into the trees.  
  
It was bedlam in the streets. The magical wards protecting the priory grounds were capable of keeping Terrors at bay; the same couldn’t be said of the rest of the island. Mere doors and shutters couldn’t keep them out-- gargoyles dove through shuttered windows and found terrified prey huddling within. Drowned dead with axes and picks chopped bolted doors to kindling.  
  
Sky screwed her eyes shut. The sickening screaming of panicked islanders, crying out in fear and desperation, churned in her gut. She was no stranger to war, after all. No stranger to fear. But it still hurt. It hurt in a way she couldn’t put into words.  
  
A gargoyle’s snapping jaws startled Sky out of a skirl of bad memories. She rolled to the side, the beast chipping its fangs on the cobblestones. It snarled in her face.  
  
Sky's spear haft snapped its jaw shut. Sky spun her spear around, and ran it through. It died, slowly and messily, thrashing on the end of Sky’s spear. She stomped on its chest to free her spearhead, and a flailing limb caught her across the face.  
  
Three bloody lines raked down Sky’s jaw. She spat out a curse, and rammed her lance down the beast’s throat.  
  
Sky cried out, yanking her spear free and staring down the legion of monsters filling the square. She grit her teeth, seething.  
  
“Come on!” Sky cried out, defiant. “Is that the best you can do?!”  
  
The line of defenders, tenuous to begin with, was breaking entirely. Sky glanced over her shoulder and saw an ominously empty square, a thin crowd of wide-eyed militiamen huddling behind a precious handful of hardened mercs.  
  
“You’ve got heart, kid,” called a grey-bearded veteran, a greatsword over his shoulder, “but I don’t think we’re comin’ out of this one…!”  
  
“Just _watch_ me,” Sky growled. “Come on! _Come on!”_  
  
Sky charged screaming into the fray, her lance flashing in the light. She spun her spear in a scything swing that cleaved through three groaning revenants like they were nothing, her blade shining red with Lucien’s blessing.  
  
Sky grunted as a ghoul tackled her off her feet. She hit the cobblestones with a curse, her spear pinned awkwardly between them. One brave sailor ran up and chopped a hand axe into the ghoul’s spine and wrenched it to the side, flinging Sky’s assailant stumbling across the square. Sky didn’t even have time to thank him-- a ghoul grabbed him from behind, sinking its teeth into his shoulder, while a second ghoul pounced on him and bit out his throat.  
  
Sky spat out a curse and plunged her lance into another drowned sailor. He thrashed as he died, his axe chopping down. Sky took the hit on her bracer and grit her teeth as the blade bit deep into the leather and sliced into her flesh. Another ghoul swung a rusty cutlass at her head. She ducked, and caught the ghoul’s knee right in her chest. She hit the ground, wheezing, as the ghoul raised its blade in both hands.  
  
The ghoul squeaked in pain as a blade drove between its legs. With a mighty roar, the veteran merc hefted his greatsword and split the beast in two from its groin up to its neck. He hoisted Sky to her feet, nodded, and leapt back into the fray.  
  
“Come on!” Sky cried out, her voice growing ragged. “We’re not finished! Fight! Fight!”  
  
“They’re killing us!” A militiaman screamed in protest.  
  
“Then kill them _back!_ ” Sky roared. “Lucien!”  
  
“No!” Lucien shouted across the square. “We have to--”  
  
Lucien let out a strangled cry, mobbed by revenants. He disappeared under a tidal wave of heaving bodies, grasping claws and chopping blades.  
  
There was a flash of ruddy red light, and Lucien emerged from the grotesque tangle of limbs, his sword arm limp, his vestments in tatters. A ghoul rose out of the pack, coiled its legs beneath it, and pounced. Lucien caught it by the forehead, immolated it in a flash of crimson magic, and smashed its smouldering husk on the street.  
  
Lucien staggered up the square, his sword dragging on the cobblestones, his limbs heavy with fatigue. He braced himself on a low stone wall, his chest heaving.  
  
“You okay, Father?” Sky asked, rushing to his side.  
  
A gargoyle screeched overhead. Sky looked up just in time to raise her spear. A scythe blade chopped into her spear haft instead of her neck, and she grit her teeth, bracing her spear with both hands. Lucien cried out, and cleaved the gargoyle apart at the waist.  
  
Lucien sagged, exhausted, leaning heavily on his sword. The red glow that shone along the blade flickered, and went out.  
  
“Come on, Father, get up,” Sky urged, hefting her spear. “Come on, this is nothing! We can do this, right? We’re not finished yet, _right_ ?”  
  
Lucien heaved a sigh, and shook his head.  
  
“...We’ve done everything we can,” he muttered, defeated. “Novis is lost. It’s over.”  
  
Sky stared at him, She grit her teeth, gripping her spear until her knuckles grew white.  
  
“While I’m still breathing, this isn’t over!” Sky cried. “This place won’t fall while her people fight for it! I’m still here! I’m _still_ fighting!”  
  
“No!” Lucien snapped, clamping a hand around Sky’s arm and yanking her back before she could charge back in. “...If I die today, it will not be with your blood on my hands.”  
  
Sky met Lucien’s gaze, willful, defiant.  
  
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not dying today,” she muttered.  
  
“No, you’re not,” Lucien said, adamant. “Get up that hill, and get behind the priory walls.”  
  
“I’m a soldier, Father. This is what I do. And I don’t take orders from you,” Sky snapped. She snatched her arm out of his grip, and ran.  
  
“No, child…!” Lucien cried, reaching out-- but she was already gone, swallowed up by the horde.  
  
Sky screamed and cried, she thrusted and stabbed, she punched and kicked and gouged and bellowed her defiance into the soulless horde. Sky fought like a woman possessed, and in a way, she was-- not by love or justice or righteousness or even base survival, but anger, deep and abiding, a wrath that thrummed under her skin and put fire behind every strike. Anger that war seemed to find her, wherever she went. Anger that she’d seemingly brought war to the doorstep of someone she loved. And a deep, burning conviction that she couldn’t-- wouldn’t-- die so far from home, an ocean away from her family, without at least seeing her one last time.  
  
The sky blazed a hellish crimson. Sky herself could only see red.  
  
Except that wasn’t true. In the distance, rising over the trees, was a light, shining like a star. And it wasn’t the sun, bloody and burning.  
  
It was a gentle, rosy pink.  
  
As pink as the ribbon tied around her spear.  
  
“Everyone out!” Lucien called, militiamen running past. “Fall back! _Fall back!_ ”  
  
A star fell in the square. It exploded in a tempest of golden fire, tendrils of flame thrashing like a hurricane. Out of the spiraling flames strode a woman, the fire parting around her like the wings of a phoenix, sword shining, hair blazing like a crown.  
  
“Hold your ground!” Celica cried, wreathed in holy fire. _“Hold your ground!”_  
  
Celica swept her blade aside, and the flames followed her will, tendrils of fire snaking out and smashing ghouls off their feet. She curled around, reaching out a cupped palm, and lifted her hand as if raising a wineglass, fire coiling around her fingers.  
  
Faye got a running start and rocketed into the air on a plume of fire. She landed on a rooftop perch, her cloak flitting in the breeze. She raised her bow, nocked an arrow, and fired, one, two, three, ten. One by one, gargoyles dropped like stones out of the sky.  
  
Lightning seared the sky, blasting a flight of gargoyles into ash and dust. Faye shot a look down into the square, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Show-off,” she muttered.  
  
Mae blew her a kiss, lightning crackling at her fingertips. She leapt and twirled into the fray, lightning in one hand, Ladyblade in the other, arcs of crimson and gold flashing with every strike.  
  
The legion of ghouls pressed in around her, only to stop in their tracks. A pulse of emerald magic rippled across the square, and vines rose up from beneath the cobblestones, snaring ankles and rooting the swarm in place.  
  
A ghoul, snagged by climbing ivy, lashed out at the first target it could find. Boey watched, impassive, as its swiping claw passed right in front of his face, just out of reach. A runic circle formed in the air before him, shimmering with power. He tapped his staff against the ground, and a flurry of magicked arrows tore into the trapped crowd, shredding the ghoul and a dozen of his fellows, besides.  
  
Mae danced through the forest of drowned dead, snagged in place, and unleashed a bolt of lightning that reduced an unfortunate section of the swarm into soot and ash. She emerged from the smoke, hands on her hips, looking awfully proud of herself. Lucien could only stare, dumbfounded.  
  
“Sister Mae?” Lucien balked. “...How was the ceremony?”  
  
“Hey buddy!” Mae grinned, cheeky. She tapped her sword against his, infusing his blade with a renewed blessing. “Didja miss us?”  
  
Lucien scoffed, a trace of a smile on his lips.  
  
“You left the priory in my care,” Lucien nodded to the mess around them. “It has certainly seen better days.”  
  
Yuzu ran past, her lavender coat flying behind her like wings. She leaped into a somersault, throwing her arms aside. A trio of ghouls fell, riddled with shuriken. Yuzu rolled into a crouch, drew her sword, and kept running.  
  
The Dragonflight had turned the tide of the battle so thoroughly that the square’s original defenders could only stare on in shock. Some of the mercenaries took a moment to stop and catch their breath, chuckling in good humor about these young upstarts showing them up. The militia, however, could only watch in awe.  
  
A bloom of pink light entered the square, trailing at the heels of heroes and champions, slayers with sword and spell. And while the Novis militia, armed for battle and filled with their second wind, found themselves drawn to the sight of Celica with her shining sword held aloft…  
  
The others. The young, the elderly, the frightened, the lost.  
  
They turned away from the battle raging in the city square, to the saint walking in the eye of the storm.  
  
“People of Novis!” Genny cried, her staff blazing like a beacon above her head. “Rally to me!”  
  
Genny strode into the square, parting the crowd of ghouls like a stone parting a creek. Terrors shrieked and hissed as Genny’s light fell upon them, and they recoiled, shrieking, weeping smoke.  
  
A child was the first to enter Genny’s sanctuary. A boy, six or seven years old, without any parents in sight. He threw aside the crate he was hiding under and bolted towards Genny’s barrier, a pair of eager ghouls snapping at his heels. He ran up and threw his arms around Genny’s legs, burying his head in her stomach. Genny placed a hand on his head, and raised her staff.  
  
One of the revenants hit the edge of Genny’s aura and hissed, snatching its hands away as if burned. But the other kept running, right into the light.  
  
By the second step, it was blazing with pink fire. By the third, it was gone.  
  
One by one, the people of Novis found their courage. They emerged from hiding, from alleys and cellars and from behind shuttered windows, and they answered Genny’s call.  
  
Genny gazed out across the crowd gathering around her, a strange fluttering growing in her chest. She’d never been the most outgoing girl. She spent most of her time at the priory, or out in the foothills with her sheep, laying on the grass and trying to write her story.  
  
The people gathered around her were her neighbors, shopkeeps, people she’d spent her whole life around but didn’t know her name. But somehow, here they were, huddled together under her dome of light, where evil could not enter, glancing up at her with reverent awe and finding sanctuary in her embrace.  
  
Genny could hardly believe it. And she wasn’t the only one.  
  
Genny strode across the square, gathering refugees to her banner while Celica and her friends cut a path forward. She was the very image of divine grace, tranquil and elegant even as her allies fought around her, the serene eye of the storm. But then she met a pair of red eyes across the square, and she stopped right in her tracks.  
  
Genny stared, stunned, a hand clapped over her mouth. Sky stared right back.  
  
A thrashing gargoyle was still impaled on Sky’s spear. She strode forward, dragging the hapless creature into Genny’s aura. The daemon melted into darkness and drifting flower petals, and Sky shouldered her spear, the pink ribbon under her spearhead fluttering in the breeze.  
  
“Genny?” Sky wondered. She reached out, but hesitated, as if afraid this was just a dream.  
  
Genny reached out, and clasped her hand.  
  
“...Est…?”  
  
Est broke into the widest of smiles.  
  
“...Yeah. It’s me.”  
  
Est gasped as Genny dove into her arms, burying her head in her chest. She let out a shuddering sigh, pulling Genny close, resting a hand in her fluffy, rosy hair.  
  
“...Est…” Genny gasped, smiling through her tears. “Wh-What… what are you doing here…?”  
  
“I’m on vacation,” Est grinned. “Commander Drakon--”  
  
A thunderous roar split the air. Genny flinched, Est reflexively shielding Genny with her body. They shared nervous glances.  
  
“...We’ll catch up later,” Est winced.  
  
Genny nodded, sheepish. “Yeah… once we get a moment to breathe.”  
  
They gave each one last lingering look before pressing onward, the Dragonflight ahead of them and a pilgrimage behind.  
  
“Rise up!” Celica cried, as lightning flashed overhead and vines rose from the earth. “Novis itself fights at your side, earth, sea, and sky! Rise up and fight! Resist! _Resist!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
A shot whistled down the hill, and a ghoul crumpled to the ground, an arrow between its eyes.  
  
Faye nocked one more arrow, eyes hunting, covering the approach, as a pair of Sisters heaved the priory gates shut. The gate creaked shut, locked and barred, luminescent wards shimmering into place across the wood. Faye blew out a breath, and slowly lowered her bow.  
  
“So,” Faye teased, turning and taking in her surroundings, “I guess this is where the magic happens.”  
  
Celica smiled. She brushed up against Faye, taking her hand with a squeeze.  
  
“I can’t say this is how I wanted you to see it,” she murmured.  
  
Novis Priory was choked with refugees. Every square foot of space was taken up by huddled families, with the most precious floor space reserved for the wounded, fussed over by clerics in stained habits.  
  
Celica crossed the courtyard, stepping gingerly over whimpering patients. Up ahead, Irma was greeting Lucien with a gentle hand against his cheek. Lucien bowed his head, reverent, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.  
  
Celica approached, Mae and Boey at her side, Faye and Yuzu at her heels. Irma rose to greet them, her staff shining in her hands, pulsing in time with the shimmering wards etched into the perimeter of the grounds. She dipped into a curtsey, bowing her head low.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Irma spoke, reverent. “High Sage Boey. High Priestess Mae. Welcome home.”  
  
Whispers flitted through the crowd. Everyone in the priory knew Boey and Mae, but everyone on the island knew the Queen of Zofia.  
  
“Would that I could have returned under happier circumstances,” Celica said gently.  
  
“Indeed,” Irma agreed.  
  
“The priory has endured under your counsel, Sister Irma,” Celica continued. “Mae and Boey were wise to entrust it to you.”  
  
“Sister Irma was my first choice to run the priory in our absence,” Boey said. He added, dryly, “Lucien was Mae’s.”  
  
Mae bristled. “...What?”  
  
“He’s a capable man, but he’s only been in our care for a few scant months…”  
  
“So? He’s old!” Mae insisted. “Old people know things!”  
  
“I am _forty-five_ ,” Lucien grumbled, petulant.  
  
“Never mind that,” Boey said, waving the tangent aside. “Sister Irma, you led the evacuation of the coast, yes? Did you happen to see...?”  
  
“Oh, yes, of course,” Irma nodded, urgent. “Come. I’ll take you to--”  
  
“Boowey!”  
  
Boey gasped. Yuzu raised an eyebrow.  
  
Little Hope came waddling through the crowd, pushing past the skirts of Irma’s habit like the curtains to a stage. Boey scooped her into his arms, spun her around and held her close, laughing in relief. Orie and Beau burst through the crowd and dove into Boey’s arms, the four of them toppling over, a pile of widely beaming islander children and their beloved big Bo(ey).  
  
“Boowey!” Hope giggled.  
  
“Boey!” Orie and Beau grinned.  
  
“ _Boey!_ ”  
  
The boys paled, while Hope clapped her hands, as if in anticipation. Teela marched up to them, grabbed Boey by the arm and yanked him up to his feet. She took him by the shoulders, mercifully stopping short of shaking him like a ragdoll.  
  
“You leave at a moment’s notice! You’re gone for months! You don’t write! And then you have the gall to come back home only when we’re caught in the middle of a Terror invasion?!”  
  
“S-Sorry…?” Boey squeaked.  
  
Teela snarled in frustration and yanked Boey into her arms, smooshing his face into her chest.  
  
“...If the dragon rampaging through the docks doesn’t kill us all in the next hour, I’ll be sure to kill you myself!” Teela huffed.  
  
Tom scooped Teela and Boey into a bear hug.  
  
“What your mother’s saying, Boey, is that we’re glad you’re safe,” Tom grinned, his eyes wet.  
  
Irma, Lucien, and the Dragonflight smiled wryly as the Dimitris family had a tearful reunion right in the middle of the priory courtyard. Mae, in particular, was so giddy and emotional she seemed fit to burst. Tom looked up, beamed, and went right ahead and pulled her into their shared embrace.  
  
“Well!” Tom said brightly. “Now that we’re all here, Boey, who are all your friends…?”  
  
“Oh, Dad…” Boey laughed.  
  
“Hey,” Orie murmured, jabbing an elbow into Mae’s ribs. “Who’s the cute one…?”  
  
“Which one, kiddo?” Mae stage whispered, grinning. “All my friends are tens.”  
  
A roar split the sky and shivered the ground beneath everyone’s feet-- an ugly reminder that they weren’t home free just yet. The whispers of the crowd, in awe and excitement at the arrival of the Dragonflight and Celica in particular, darkened into anxious murmuring.  
  
Someone screamed. A pool of darkness appeared in the courtyard, frothing and bubbling.  
  
Lucien leapt to his feet, reaching for his sword. Celica caught him by the arm.  
  
“Wait,” Celica said, wary.  
  
The darkness rippled, and a woman emerged, shedding the shadows like a quilt. Shade rose out of the inky darkness with a satisfied sigh, pulling her staff from the murk and flipping her hair. She glanced around at the astonished crowd, grinning.  
  
“...I appreciate you not immediately filling me with arrows,” Shade mused. She turned, daintily offering her hand. Silque and Rinea emerged from the shifting shadows, Shade escorting them out of the dark. Shade tapped her staff against the ground, and the black pool sealed itself behind them.  
  
Faye bolted across the courtyard and dove into Silque’s arms. Rinea clasped her hands, beaming-- only for Faye to reach out and tug her into the hug as well.  
  
Yuzu, more subdued, dipped her head in respect as Shade strode up the square, regal and commanding. Shade laid a fond hand in her hair, before making her way up to Celica and dipping into a curtsey.  
  
“It’s almost flattering to be turning heads like this,” Shade grinned, side-eyeing the staring crowd and their fearful, suspicious murmuring. ‘Sorcerer’, muttered some. ‘Witch’, hissed the particularly bold.  
  
“It’s pronounced ‘bitch’!” Shade crowed.  
  
“Miss Shade,” Celica said, pointedly clasping her hand in welcome and glaring down the suspicious townsfolk over Shade’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you. But please-- tell me the captain and her crew made it out. Saber and Sonya, too.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Shade urged. She popped a finger into her mouth, then held it up into the wind. “They should be here right… about… now.”  
  
Not to be outdone by Shade’s own dramatic entrance, Sonya shot up the cliffside on a magicked tornado, falling into the courtyard cradled on a cushion of air. She stepped onto the tile, her cloak fluttering in the conjured breeze, while a dazed Saber staggered out of her embrace and doubled over, his hands on his knees.  
  
“...Next time, I ride with Shade…” Saber grumbled, dragging his fingers through his hair.  
  
“Miss Sonya,” Celica said, stepping forward and clasping her wrist in greeting. “Where’s the captain?”  
  
“Stalling,” Sonya said gravely. “Where’s Genny?”  
  
Genny was stealing a moment with Est, tucked away in as private a corner of the courtyard they could find. It really was just a moment-- Genny, sitting down and massaging her aching feet. Est, taking a swig from her waterskin and wiping the sweat from her brow. It was the weight of all the things they had to say, not knowing where to start, deciding not to say anything at all. It was self-consciously sitting an inch apart, so close, yet so far, unsure where the line was between them after so long. It was Genny, meeting Est’s gaze as red as any sunrise, her heart fluttering in her chest, until Est glanced up, over Genny’s shoulder, and the smile fell from her face.  
  
Genny closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Genny,” Celica said, Sonya at her shoulder. “We need you.”  
  
Genny met Est’s eyes for just a moment, before lifting her staff off her lap. She pulled herself up, squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath.  
  
“You have me,” Genny said gently. “Always.”  
  
~*~  
  
Novis Priory was so much more than it appeared at first glance. It was a lighthouse, certainly, on the cliffs above the bay. It was a chapel, a boarding school, an orphanage, a shelter. A number of greenhouses within its walls grew the crops that kept the clergy fed, and the foothills beyond the priory walls were filled with sheep-- sheep that had gone unnoticed by the invading Terrors and had stood in their fields, grazing, oblivious.  
  
But the true wealth of the Priory was hidden beneath the surface, in a vast network of sublevels and underground vaults dug into the very hill it sat upon. These cavernous halls housed the Novis Archives, a sprawling library filled with centuries of knowledge.  
  
It was in these halls that the people of Novis found sanctuary, when the rest of the island was overrun with ghouls. It was in these halls that Genny, Mae, and Boey spent a full year developing the purification spell before Genny set off on her fateful ride to Fear Mountain. And it was here that Genny stood, once again, the Dragonflight at her side, seeking an answer to their newest crisis.  
  
Genny clutched her staff a little too tightly, stiff with nerves. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to having a whole room’s eyes on her like this. She glanced to Est beside her, then to Celica, who stepped forward with a nod.  
  
“The people of Novis are safe,” Celica began, “for now. But the priory doesn’t have the supplies to support the entire island for very long, and this place isn’t exactly a fortress. We need to regroup, and we need to retake the island.”  
  
“We’ll have to be thorough,” Yuzu spoke up. “Street by street, house by house. We cannot let even a single one of those monsters survive, if they will only wreak havoc in the future.”  
  
“We can’t exactly do a thorough sweep of the city right now,” Saber said. “We’ve kinda got bigger things to worry about.”  
  
“How big are we talking?” Est wondered.  
  
Mae laughed mirthlessly. “...oh, I’d say about fifty feet…”  
  
“Leviathan,” Sonya muttered, grave.  
  
“A dragon,” Rinea murmured. “A real dragon, in the flesh. I can hardly believe it.”  
  
Silque blew out a sigh, shaking her head. “Why? Why here? Why now?”  
  
“Who _knows_ what goes on in a dragon’s head…” Shade shrugged.  
  
“Well, it arrived here before us, so we can scratch off ‘petty revenge’,” Sonya said.  
  
“Captain Vesper and her crew are on the Thorn right now, leading Leviathan on a chase around the island,” Saber explained. “She’ll buy us as much time as she can, but sooner or later, Leviathan’s gonna get fed up and go lookin’ for easier prey. Sooner or later, it’ll come knocking on these walls. We need a plan.”  
  
“We’re gonna _fight_ that thing?” Faye balked. “Listen, guys… Celica, you dropped a meteor on its face and that didn’t do much. Mae, you shot lightning down its throat and all that did was piss it off. I think we’re a little out of our league, here.”  
  
“I don’t disagree,” Celica muttered, “but we play the hand we’re dealt. Boey?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Tell me you have something.”  
  
“Well, we are currently surrounded by over a thousand years of preserved knowledge,” Boey said, gesturing to the cavernous archive sprawling out around them. “If there is a solution, I don’t doubt we can find it in these halls. But I don’t think it’s in the books-- I think it’s here, in the land itself.”  
  
Boey reached out, and smoothed a hand against a column. Little veins of emerald light flickered beneath the cool stone, rhythmically growing brighter and then dimming again, almost as if it were alive.  
  
“This island has a much higher magical population than normal, and that’s no accident,” Boey explained. “There are veins of magical power running beneath the surface of the world, conduits of raw arcane power. Ley lines, the lifeblood of the planet, amplifying our own magic.”  
  
“Y’know, I _did_ notice that…” Mae mused, tapping her chin. “Out on the Thorn, I was kinda feeling drained, kinda stressed out. But once I landed on that beach, I felt… unstoppable. I just figured that was the feeling of coming home.”  
  
“The power of the ley line may be what drew Leviathan to this place, and this host of Terrors along with it,” Boey muttered darkly. “But it may also be the key to our victory. If we draw our magic not just from our own, limited life force, but from the land itself, we may have a chance.”  
  
“You said it yourself, Celica,” Genny said softly. “All Novis fights at our side.”  
  
“But will it be enough…?” Celica wondered.  
  
Genny reached out, and gently took Celica’s hand, offering her a shy, hopeful smile. She turned, tapping her staff against the ground. All eyes turned to her, but she didn’t flinch away.  
  
“We stand together,” Genny said, mustering her courage. “With faith, and family, we cannot fail.”  
  
Warmth bloomed among the Dragonflight, united in purpose. But then a crash boomed out, high above, shivering the hall around them and sending trickles of dust spilling down from the arched roof.  
  
“Mother Mila, that can’t be them already!” Mae hissed, fumbling for her sword.  
  
“Dragonflight!” Genny called, raising her staff. “Let’s ride!”  
  
~*~  
  
A shadow fell like a curtain across the priory grounds, eclipsing the lighthouse beacon. Thunder clapped, and the ground shuddered, as mighty footfalls scaled the cliff upon which Novis Priory sat.  
  
Two massive fists curled around the priory walls, claws biting into the stone. A great serpentine neck coiled up over the wall, rippling with muscle and glistening with seafoam, black fins and crests framing the sea dragon’s maw like a crown.  
  
Leviathan bellowed out a roar, thundering across the priory grounds and sending clerics and refugees scurrying like ants.  
  
But while her frantic brethren raced to usher the people of Novis into the sublevels, Sister Irma stood tall, her staff shining like the sun.  
  
Leviathan stared her down, slitted eyes burning with violet light. It lunged, its vicious fangs snapping down.  
  
Leviathan’s fanged maw crunched into a dome of wheat-gold light. It recoiled, its mouth singed and smouldering.  
  
Irma cried out and fell to one knee, her barrier cracking and flickering. Above her, the great sea dragon roared in outrage and contempt for the insect keeping it from its meal. Irma braced her palm against the courtyard’s tiled stone, a web of vivid green light spreading beneath her feet. She pulled herself up, tendrils of leaf-green light snaking up her staff like climbing ivy, and locked eyes with the behemoth looming above the walls.  
  
“I defy you, daemon!” Irma cried, gritting her teeth. “You will _not_ enter here!”  
  
Leviathan slammed its fanged maw into the barrier. There was a sharp crack, like shattering glass-- and Irma crumpled to the ground, her barrier crumbling into shards of light that fell into the courtyard and fizzled into nothing.  
  
Lucien caught Irma before she could hit the tile, gently lowering her onto the ground. He stood, drawing his sword with shaking fingers.  
  
Leviathan roared in his face.  
  
Lucien spat out a curse, gathered light at his fingertips and threw his arm aside.  
  
Darts of crimson light flew from Lucien’s grasp and stuck in Leviathan’s scales like throwing knives. They flashed and popped uselessly against Leviathan’s armored hide, scarcely even singing the scales.  
  
Leviathan’s fangs came snapping down.  
  
Lucien breathed out a sigh. He closed his eyes.  
  
A pillar of magical fire soared over his head and smashed Leviathan aside.  
  
Celica swiped Beloved Zofia aside, her blade glowing red-hot. The Dragonflight fanned out at her flanks, spilling out of the priory’s sublevels. Celica grit her teeth, and raised her sword.  
  
“Everyone with me!” she cried. “Give it all you’ve got!”  
  
Fire roared. Lightning flashed. Wind and darkness coiled together in a scything, shredding plume, and arrows of light shot into the smoke. The Dragonflight’s mages unleashed everything they had, in one spectacular onslaught that was hauntingly beautiful in its sheer destruction. In that awe-inspiring, catastrophic moment, it felt like the world was coming to an end.  
  
Leviathan emerged from the smoke, dazed and whimpering, wheezing in pain. Violet flame flickered around its eyes, its slitted eyes flickering between sickly green and stormy gray.  
  
Leviathan roared. It lunged, smoke weeping from its jaws, fangs snapping down.  
  
Boey cracked his staff against the ground, green light dancing at his fingertips. A massive clod of stone and soil broke from the cliff face and rocketed into Leviathan’s maw. It recoiled, gagging, snarling in frustration.  
  
Boey exhaled, swiping a sleeve across his brow.  
  
“...This isn’t working…” he muttered.  
  
“C’mon, don’t quit now!” Mae urged. Green light coiled up her ankles, and lightning exploded from her fingers, a searing white-hot bolt that traced a charred line up Leviathan’s belly. “Novis is giving us strength! I feel stronger than ever! We’re at the top of our game!”  
  
“Even so,” Boey grimaced, “we’re no match for a dragon…”  
  
“We won’t stop here,” Celica pressed. She raised Beloved Zofia, fire streaking from the blade. “If we fall, Novis falls…! We’ll end this here…!”  
  
Genny stared up at the onslaught unfolding above her, clutching her staff to her chest. Leviathan thrashed and snarled as the Dragonflight renewed their attack, elemental magic twining together into a tornado of multicolored light and power. But Genny remained fixed on Leviathan’s eyes, flickering between green and gray, and the aura of tell-tale violet flame shrouding its form.  
  
Leviathan was the most powerful foe they’d ever encountered. They weren’t strong enough to shield the priory from its attacks. They weren’t strong enough for their magical onslaught to break through and slay the beast.  
  
But it wasn’t about fighting, was it?  
  
It wasn’t about defending, or attacking. It wasn’t about slaying monsters. When Genny first set out for Fear Mountain, in search of her missing mother, the Dragonflight as an organization wasn’t even a twinkle in her eye. Even with a medal around her neck and her friends at her side, the Dragonflight wasn’t formed to do battle.  
  
None of this was for fighting. She didn’t do any of this for fame, or fortune, or the thrill of combat.  
  
She did it for her family.  
  
She did it for love.  
  
“Love heals,” Genny whispered, like a prayer. She lifted her gaze towards the great dragon above her, and began to walk.  
  
The ley line shimmered beneath her feet. Light rose like greenery in her wake, as if her very footsteps were causing grass to grow and coaxed flowers into bloom. Power thrummed in the air, gathering atop Genny’s staff. And, like a moth to a flame, or like Leviathan to the wellspring of power beneath Novis Island, the Dragonflight were drawn to her, turning away from the battle at hand and gazing at Genny with reverent awe.  
  
“Mother Mila,” Genny began, “giver of life, giver of your bounty, and mother to us all…”  
  
Genny raised her staff, shining pink and gold, like a rose, or a sunrise.  
  
“...reach out your loving hand… and bring an end to pain.”  
  
Celica wordlessly raised her sword, shining with her golden fire. Mae followed suit, her blade crackling with lightning. Silque raised her staff, magicked water spiraling around her form. Boey raised his own, wisps of emerald light flitting around him like leaves on the wind. Sonya held out her hands, palms up, her hair and cloak flitting in the breeze. Shade tapped her staff against the ground, shadows dancing across the stone.  
  
They were bound together, leaf-green light coiling between them and pooling beneath Genny’s feet like the roots of a great tree.  
  
Leviathan glowered down at the specks in the courtyard, bound together in a spreading web of emerald light, with Genny a shining pink rose at its heart.  
  
“Merciful Mila, I carry your will within me!” Genny cried. “Free this lost soul from their suffering!”  
  
Leviathan roared. Genny didn’t flinch. The dragon’s fangs came crashing down--  
  
**_“Release!”_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** Light, pure and blinding, erupted from the priory grounds. Leviathan shrieked, engulfed in dazzling, iridescent light, a cloud of toxic black smoke flooding from its mouth, its nose, from the gaps in its scales. Obliterated revenants crumbled to ash and dust and sloughed from Leviathan’s scales like cascades of seawater.  
  
The radiant spell, empowered by Novis itself, blasted Leviathan right off the cliff. It screeched and flailed, its claws scrabbling for purchase on the stone, wreathed in an aura of multicolored light.  
  
Wreathed in light, weeping smoke, the great dragon Leviathan shed its scales and fell into the sea.  
  
~*~  
  
The celebration was the sort of party legends were made of.  
  
The Thorn sailed back into port with Vesper at the helm. Immediately, the people of Novis cracked open its cargo to prepare a feast in the Dragonflight’s honor. Celica protested, if only because those supplies were intended to last the island until shipping could resume. But with Leviathan defeated and the trade routes secure, it wouldn’t be long before the merchant fleet would be coming back in with a whole new load of goods.  
  
With practically the entire island crammed in and around the priory grounds, feasting, drinking, and toasting the Dragonflight’s name, it was a wonder Genny could manage to slip away. Indeed, Boey was at that moment hunting for her in the crowd, because Teela had insisted on inviting the whole of the Dragonflight to lunch with the Dimitris family and wasn’t going to take no for an answer.  
  
Genny hoped he wouldn’t mind waiting for her a little longer.  
  
After all, she had a date.  
  
“So,” Genny began, “you’re going by ‘Sky’, now, huh?”  
  
Genny turned from the little window in her old room at the priory, to see Est perched at the foot of her bed. Est grinned, reaching up and sheepishly scratching the back of her head.  
  
“Yeah, well. It’s a mercenary name, y’know? I gotta sound cool. Better than ‘Esther’, at least.”  
  
“And way better than ‘Francis’,” Genny teased.  
  
“ _Excuse_ you, I was named after my _grandma_ , okay?”  
  
“What, _both_ of them?”  
  
Est lobbed a pillow at her head. Genny squeaked through a faceful of cotton, giggling. She stumbled back against the wall-- her old room was really more of a closet-- and bumped into Est’s spear, propped up in the corner. Genny looked up, tracing her fingers against the wood and curling around the pink ribbon tied around the haft-- a twin to the violet one currently residing in her hair.  
  
“You kept it,” Genny cooed.  
  
“Of course I did,” Est grinned. “I _would_ wear it, but, well, my hair’s not really long enough…”  
  
Genny’s heart flipped in her chest. She snatched her gaze away from Est’s grin, peering out the window, eager to change the subject. Outside, the festivities were still in full swing. Poor Celica had somehow found herself in the middle of a crowd of revelers. Someone shoved a tankard into her hands and the crowd chanted her name, Saber and Silque among them.  
  
Genny giggled. “...Man, would you listen to them? Everyone’s cheering for Celica, chanting her name…”  
  
“Only because they don’t know yours,” Est shrugged. “I bet I could change that for you.”  
  
“I didn’t do it for the fame, Est,” Genny chided.  
  
“You still deserve the credit. Here, watch.” Est jumped up, calling out the window. “Hey, everybody! Let’s hear it for Sister _Genevieve_ !”  
  
Genny squealed in embarrassment and thwapped her pillow over Est’s face. They toppled backward onto Genny’s bed, tangled together and smiling like the sun, and together, Genny and Est laughed and laughed.  
  
~*~  
  
With the party in full swing, no one noticed one more refugee.  
  
There was darkness all around her, in the cavernous halls and in the recesses of her mind. But in astral space, the ley line shone with a brilliant and unmistakable light, guiding her down through the sublevels, into the oldest, deepest vaults.  
  
As she descended through the priory sublevels, the architecture changed. The stark, clean-cut walls of hewn stone became smooth and rounded, hollowed out by water rather than any tools of man. There were caves here, at the foot of the cliff, tunnels that led out to the shore. And there was something else, something tugging at the edge of her senses. A thought. A memory.  
  
There. A plaster fresco, done who knew how long ago. Its artist went the way of mortals. But their art endured, like the memory-- like the pain.  
  
She reached out, hesitant, fingertips hovering over the wall.  
  
“I know who you are.”  
  
She hissed, pulling her hand away. She glanced over her shoulder, grey eyes glinting like pearls in the deep.  
  
“No one knows who I am. Not anymore.”  
  
“I do,” Noah said, emerging from the shadows, his bone-white dagger leveled at her chest. “We are more alike than you think, you and I.”  
  
“Why?” she wondered. “Because we’ve both been defeated by mortals?”  
  
“Because we’ve both known grief,” Noah said. “I can see it in your eyes. I know what it’s like to love someone who should have been forever, only for them to be stolen away. I know what it’s like to lose… everything…”  
  
Noah shuddered, his lone crimson eye flickering with tears.  
  
“...I know what it’s like… the temptation to give in… to surrender… to be an animal again. Because an animal doesn’t know hurt. An animal doesn’t remember.”  
  
Noah stepped forward, seething, the tip of his dagger against her throat. She met his hellish red gaze and didn’t flinch.  
  
“I know who you are,” Noah hissed, “because you’re _me_ . But here’s the difference between us: I did not give in. I will not surrender. I will not be laid low by man, god, or beast. I will find her. The one woman I ever loved. And I _will_ bring her home, no matter how many bodies I have to walk over to get her there.”  
  
She took a deep breath, and sighed. She nodded, somber.  
  
“...Are you here to kill me, then, little one?”  
  
Noah’s eye twitched. He swiped his blade aside.  
  
A length of braided leather fell loose around the woman’s neck. Her pendant slipped from its severed cord and fell.  
  
Noah snatched it from the air before it could hit the ground.  
  
“No,” he whispered. “There’s nothing left of you to kill.”  
  
She watched him go, sliding his dagger back into his belt and clutching the stone in his hands. He walked out into the surf, his ragged traveler’s cloak flitting in the breeze. There was a flash of frost-blue light, and he was gone.  
  
She stood there for a long moment, standing within the mouth of that cave and gazing out at the waves, on the threshold where land met the sea.  
  
Maybe he was right. Maybe she was already dead. Maybe life goes on, even when you don’t want to.  
  
Or maybe she was here for a reason. Maybe she awoke from her slumber and came to this place because sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Somehow, when she’d surrendered herself to the animal so she would never have to remember, she still found herself here, in the one place, before the one person, who could bring her back to the light.  
  
Maybe that was an accident. Or, perhaps, it was…  
  
“Providence,” she whispered.  
  
She turned to the portrait on the wall, fingertips tracing the likeness of Mother Mila--  
  
\--and her wife, now widow, with nut-brown skin, seafoam hair, and eyes as gray as the waves.  
  
“Hello, my pearl,” Novis whispered, tender, over the rushing tide. “I’m home.”  
  
~*~


	9. Pearls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leviathan has fallen, and Novis stands tall. 
> 
> Life returns to the island in an audacious, exultant shout. Now, the whole island gathers together to celebrate the Dragonflight’s victory. 
> 
> “Sky”, however, isn’t quite in the festive mood. The days after Leviathan’s attack leave her restless, worried-- a soldier without an enemy, a warrior without a war. And while the Dragonflight spend their week relaxing and preparing for the festival in their honor, Sky suddenly finds herself with plenty of time to think. 
> 
> War is her craft, and she knows it well. Peace, she doesn’t quite know how to handle.
> 
> Love, even less so...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Dragonflight! Today, we're celebrating Valentine's Day a day early with a chapter all about a certain someone getting relationship advice from friends old and new. Ultimately, Dragonflight is a story about love, how it both strains and sustains us, and nowhere is that more apparent in this chapter. Strap yourselves in, guys-- this is gonna be a long one. I hope you all enjoy the read! ^^

~*~  
  
The world had changed.  
  
Nighttime, and Novis Island blazed with light and color. Revelers in their hundreds flooded the beaches, feasting, frolicking, dancing by firelight, the massive bonfires and glowing charcoal pits casting gleaming gold across the waves. Lanterns hung above, strung like pearls between the trees, shivering on their lines as drummers pounded out a beat on the sand below.  
  
It was all rather overwhelming, truth be told. Ever since her… well, she wasn’t quite sure what to call it, but ‘awakening’ seemed close enough. Ever since her awakening, the world had seemed so much louder, so much brighter than it had ever been. As if the years of loss, of memories buried in the fog of forgetting, all the absence and longing and misery could be distilled into something so pathetically mundane as a hangover the following day.  
  
It wasn’t how she imagined it. Losing her, losing everything, and waking up to a world that had forgotten her face, but remembered her name.  
  
The pilgrim heaved a sigh. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her latticed fingers. In the distance, the Novis coastline shone with bonfires that turned the night right into day, as if they’d caught the sun in a fishing net before it could dip beneath the waves, and held it on the horizon so it could join in the festivities.  
  
The world had changed. But some things stayed the same. And here, on her bench, well apart from the crowds and the cheering, the pilgrim went home again. As if the pounding music were merely the muffled tremors of the deep, and the distant fires the sunlight through the waves.  
  
“Uh… hey there.”  
  
The pilgrim looked up. There was a girl looming above her, all bright eyes and long limbs she still hadn’t quite grown into.  
  
“Didn’t feel like joining the party?” The girl chuckled, tugging at her bracers. “Me either. The whole island’s going wild, but I dunno, I think I could use a little peace and quiet instead. You mind if I, uh…?”  
  
The pilgrim scooted aside and wordlessly patted the bench beside her. The girl grinned, and plopped right down.  
  
“Thanks,” she said. She was smiling, but she was breathless with nerves. “I’m, uh…” She cleared her throat, trying to sound tough. “They call me Sky, over in the mercenary world. You may not have heard of me, yet. But you will. How about you?”  
  
The pilgrim met Sky’s forced grin with little more than a curious, raised eyebrow in the darkness of her hood.  
  
“The strong, silent type, huh?” Sky nodded sagely. “That’s cool, that’s cool. That works out. I mean, I could probably do enough talking for both of us.”  
  
Sky barked out a laugh, eventually trailing off awkwardly when the pilgrim merely looked at her with a face somewhere between curiosity and contempt. Sky cleared her throat.  
  
“...Listen, buddy. I think we’re, y’know, really bonding here. I like the energy we’ve got here. I think I can let you in on a few secrets. First off: Sky’s not my name. It’s Est. Second: ‘Est’ isn’t short for ‘Estelle’, as cool as that would be. It’s short for ‘Esther’, which isn’t nearly as heroic-sounding. Third…”  
  
Est trailed off, feeling foolish. The hooded pilgrim lifted her hand, and then lifted three fingers with a shrug. Est managed a sheepish smile.  
  
“...Third… well, the third one’s a bit of a long story.” Est heaved a sigh, leaning back in her seat and gazing up at the sky. “But there’s this girl, right? The cutest girl in the whole world, with a heart bigger than this whole damn island. We fought together years ago, before the Dragonfall, believe it or not. And about a week ago, I saw her again for the first time in years…”  
  
~*~  
  
Morning on Novis. Est sat on the edge of her bed, gazing out her window. The gray, pre-dawn light painted the whole world in monochrome, casting strange shadows across the stone.  
  
Genny had been so apologetic, last night, about her accomodation. “It must not be what you’re used to in Macedon,” Genny had said, sheepish. And she was right-- it was missing the ear-splitting bugle call that sounded the start of morning inspection, and it lacked the stifling heat, musky scent, and utter lack of privacy of a dozen soldiers packed into a billet. Compared to the barracks back in Macedon, the little monastic cells here on Novis were practically a luxury.  
  
There was a bowl of water sitting on Est’s nightstand. She pulled it onto her lap, studying her reflection.  
  
Six years since the Dragonfall. Est scowled. Twenty-two years old, and she still hadn’t grown into her looks. Her arms and legs were too long, her nose was off, her chest was flat as a board. Even her hair wasn’t cooperating. You’d think, after cutting it short and keeping it that way for years and years, that bedhead wouldn’t be a problem anymore. But _no_ …  
  
Est dunked her face in the bowl. She emerged with a gasp, spraying water across her sheets. She set the bowl aside and shook herself dry like a puppy, combing her fingers through her hair.  
  
The sun wasn’t shining, the birds weren’t singing, and Est wasn’t ready to have this conversation-- but that’s hardly ever stopped her before.  
  
So Est got up. She took a deep breath, marched down the hall, and knocked on Genny’s door.  
  
And then she… waited. Nervous. Feeling like just about the biggest moron in the world.  
  
Est stood there, waiting, anxiety gnawing at her gut, just long enough for her to realize she hadn’t planned out what to say beyond “good morning”. She reached out to knock again, but her knuckles nudged the door open, only to reveal an empty bed.  
  
Est blinked,  
  
“Est?”  
  
Est yelped and whirled around. Genny squeaked in surprise, her hair bouncing.  
  
Their eyes met for a long moment. Then they both dissolved into giggles.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Est grinned. “This was, like, _way_ more dramatic in my head…”  
  
“What were you going to say?” Genny asked.  
  
Est shrugged. “Well, y’know. I would’ve started at ‘good morning’ and worked something out from there…”  
  
Genny smiled, and pulled Est into a hug. Est gasped and went stiff, Genny settling in under her chin.  
  
“...Well, good morning, Est,” Genny cooed.  
  
“Y-Yeah…” Est squeaked.  
  
Genny reluctantly pulled away, self-consciously clasping her hands in front of her while Est, flustered, stared at the floor and tried to remember how to breathe. Genny cleared her throat, shyly reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear.  
  
“...So, um… they’ll be serving breakfast in the refectory soon. I know the sun isn’t even up yet, but… days at the priory start early. I hope that’s… okay…”  
  
“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Est urged, managing a grin. “I’m a soldier, remember?”  
  
Genny smiled, and ushered Est down the hall to breakfast. They walked in a wary silence, unsure of what to say. But when Genny’s fingers gently trailed down Est’s arm in invitation, Est took her hand without a word.  
  
~*~  
  
They took breakfast in the Novis refectory, at a long wooden table with bench seating on either side. Again, not unlike the dining hall at the barracks in Macedon-- but the difference in company could not be more stark. Est was used to the company of soldiers: loud, rowdy, boisterous soldiers. But the residents of Novis Priory were cut from a different cloth.  
  
They ate in a genial quiet, placidly sipping their thin fish soup. Soup was the lifeblood of the priory, a go-to recipe for both its staff and those seeking sanctuary therein. It was filling, nutritious, easily scaled up to feed a crowd, flexible in terms of ingredients. Whoever was on kitchen duty could leave a pot on to simmer all day, so there was a warm meal waiting for every pilgrim or refugee who came to the priory’s doorstep. And by the time dinner came around, all it needed was some flour and a little more heat to boil it down into a nice, thick stew.  
  
Est idly swished a slice of coarse, crusty bread in her soup. She took a messy bite and chewed thoughtfully, studying her companions.  
  
The Dragonflight was mostly assembled. Celica sat near the head of the table, an already-bickering Mae and Faye at her left and right hands. Boey sat beside Mae, chatting animatedly with his fellow sages, while Sister Irma reminded him not to bring books to breakfast. A bleary-eyed Shade was leaning on Sonya’s shoulder, the two of them clearly fighting hangovers, Sonya’s battle faring better than Shade’s. Saber and Vesper were presumably still asleep after spending the night celebrating with their old mercenary friends. Yuzu sat diligently at Genny’s side, watchful, wary. Only two people were missing-- the two blue-haired women whom Est didn’t recognize from the days before the Dragonfall.  
  
It was strange, Est thought, to be reunited with so many familiar faces. Stranger still, she mused, that the rest of the priory staff didn’t seem fazed in the slightest that they were breaking bread with heroes and saints.  
  
Then again, Est could have just been spacing out over breakfast. And, well, as soon as she met Genny’s eyes across the table, and saw Genny smile and shyly tuck her hair behind her ear, Est promptly forgot whatever else she’d been thinking about.  
  
While priory novices in plain gray habits cleared the dishes away, Sister Irma scraped back her chair at the head of the table, stood, and clapped her hands.  
  
“Good morning, my brethren,” she announced. “Mila provides.”  
  
“Mila provides,” they chorused back.  
  
“I’d like to thank you all for your diligence and dedication these past few days,” Irma intoned. “Never could I have imagined Terrors flooding our shores, much less a dragon menacing our church! In the wake of this attack, there remains much to be done. There are homeless to shelter, homes to rebuild, wounded to tend to. But the most important thing to remember is that Novis endured, and we still endure, thanks to the efforts of the Dragonflight, whom we honor here today.”  
  
Applause around the table. Celica accepted it gracefully. Mae puffed and preened while Boey rolled his eyes. Genny just sank into her seat, smiling, bashful.  
  
“Sister Celica,” Irma continued. “Sister Genny. Sister Mae. Sage Boey. You are children of this church, and in its service you have saved Novis Island from certain destruction. You and your band of heroes deserve no less than the finest celebration the island can muster.”  
  
Celica tittered, sheepish. “Oh, really, there’s no need for--”  
  
“It’s too late for modesty, Sister,” Irma smiled. She dipped her head towards Sage Lucien, seated beside her. “Tell her, Lucien.”  
  
“There was an impromptu celebration a few nights ago,” Lucien admitted. “In the heat of the moment, when the dragon was defeated, and all of Novis was gathered within the priory grounds. But Sister Irma and I thought you all deserved a celebration with quite a bit more forethought involved. A feast, perhaps.”  
  
Lucien rose, formally clasping his hands behind his back.  
  
“With that dragon no longer preying on the merchant fleet, the shipping lanes have reopened. You’ve all worked so hard, you deserve a day of rest. So, you shall have one, a week from today-- when Sister Irma and I throw an island-wide festival in the Dragonflight’s honor.”  
  
“Holy _shit_ !” Mae crowed, over the swell of excited murmurs. “Our own festival!”  
  
“Irma, you shouldn’t have,” Genny chided, but she was beaming, despite herself.  
  
“This is no time for modesty, little one,” Irma tutted. “After what you did? Lucien and I are one talk with the mayor away from declaring the Dragonflight’s arrival a local holiday.”  
  
“S-Stop…” Genny squeaked. She buried her face in her arms.  
  
Est reached out, and poked Genny’s hand. Genny peeked out from her crossed arms, flustered, and slipped her hand into hers.  
  
“Alright, everyone!” Irma called, clapping her hands. “I know you’re all excited for next seven-day, but there’s still work to be done and today’s just getting started! Let’s get up and at ‘em! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”  
  
And just like that, the serene priory became a storm of activity, robed acolytes scurrying to and fro to get started on their chores. The priory courtyard, now shrouded by some impromptu tents, was still filled to bursting with wounded from Leviathan’s attack a week ago. And now, on top of all that, there was a party to prepare for.  
  
Genny caught Est by the arm on her way out of the refectory, her staff nestled in the crook of her arm.  
  
“Hey,” Genny said gently. “I have to go. They need me out in the healing tents.”  
  
“That’s cool,” Est shrugged. “What should I do?”  
  
“You don’t have to do anything,” Genny giggled. “You’re on vacation. You should enjoy yourself! I’m just sorry I have to work…”  
  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Est grinned, clapping Genny on the shoulder. “I can go check out the island, maybe catch up with your other friends. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Genny nodded. She reached up and clasped Est’s hand, lingering on her shoulder.  
  
“We _will_ have time to catch up properly,” Genny said. She gave Est’s hand a squeeze. “I promise.”  
  
“Don’t worry about me,” Est grinned. “Good luck out there.”  
  
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Genny wondered.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Est urged. “I’ll be fine…”  
  
~*~  
  
As a soldier, Est having free time was a bit of a novel experience. Granted, she was on official leave from the Macedon military for the past few weeks-- Minerva forcing her to _finally_ use up her stockpiled vacation days-- so it’s not like she wasn’t used to keeping herself occupied. But most of that time had been spent either on a ship or swapping stories with mercenaries at the tavern. She’d come to Novis with a mission. Being so close now-- so close, yet so far-- just might drive her crazy.  
  
But Est was going to be fine. She was a grown woman. She didn’t need to follow Genny around all day like a lovesick puppy. She didn’t need to spend all day thinking about what they could have been, six years ago, if Est hadn’t needed to return to Macedon.  
  
Est was fine.  
  
She was fine, right?  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Est muttered, scuffing her boots on the paving stones as she wandered the priory grounds.  
  
She was talking to herself. Probably not the best sign.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Est echoed, with slightly more conviction. “I’m not some loser who waits all day at her old flame’s doorstep for them to get home. I can do things on my own. I can be alone with my own thoughts. No big deal.”  
  
Est stopped, and took in her surroundings. A paving stone pathway underfoot, grass beside, white tents strung up overhead…  
  
The healing tents. She’d wound up in the courtyard by the healing tents without even realizing.  
  
Est smacked herself in the forehead.  
  
“Get it together, Skylark!” Est groaned. “It’s not like you to be so clingy!”  
  
Est stubbornly turned right around and marched right back into the priory. Or she would have, if something in the window hadn’t caught her eye.  
  
There was a woman, standing alone in a room, her arms elegantly curled in front of her form. She dipped into a curtsey, before rising up and twirling on her heel. She leaned forward, arms out like wings, her leg extended her for balance, toes pointed, and she spun, rising into a point and then opening her arms with a flourish.  
  
Est watched her dance, wordless, entranced, lingering in the open doorway. She was so caught up in the performance she didn’t realize she wasn’t the only one-- catching herself just before she bumped into the robed woman standing just inside the doorway.  
  
“Sorry,” Est murmured, softly so the dancer wouldn’t hear.  
  
“It’s alright,” the other woman smiled, giving her a friendly pat on the hand. “Est, right?”  
  
“Yep, that’s me.”  
  
“Sister Silque,” she smiled. “Genny’s told us all about you.”  
  
Est choked. She awkwardly took Silque’s offered hand and shook it.  
  
“...Good things, I hope…” Est muttered. She cleared her throat, hurrying onto another subject. “I didn’t see you two at breakfast.”  
  
“I’ve served this priory for fifteen years,” Silque chuckled. “I’ve spent over half my life waking up to fish soup. I’m never _too_ eager to have it again. I came to fetch Rin, so she could have some. But she insisted on some morning exercise, first.”  
  
Silque clasped her hands over her heart, watching Rinea pirouette with such sincere warmth in her eyes that it made Est’s heart ache.  
  
“Can you imagine?” Silque murmured. “Three months ago, she couldn’t even get out of bed. Now, just look at her. Not just walking, but dancing. I couldn’t be prouder.”  
  
“You should be,” Est agreed. “You healed her.”  
  
“She healed herself,” Silque said. “All I did was nudge her along.”  
  
They watched Rinea dance in quiet awe. Outside, the pre-dawn glow was spreading across the sky. Est glanced out the window and saw Sister Irma and Sage Lucien at the center of a mob of clerics. Some wore gray, some wore white, some had their habits edged with green or blue, some men wore turbans, some women wore veils, but the youngest clerics didn’t need to cover their hair. Est found herself wondering about the priory’s dress code, and caught herself before she could try searching for a glimpse of pink in a sea of white and gray.  
  
“Hey,” Est began, bumping an elbow against Silque’s. “You’ve been here forever, pretty much, right? And you know everybody here?”  
  
“More or less,” Silque said. “Why do you ask?”  
  
In the distance, Irma tapped her staff against the ground and sent a trio of junior clerics scurrying to their duties. Lucien chuckled fondly, his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t fit in with the other clerics-- he carried a sword, not a staff, and he alone wore Rigel’s colors of red and gold. But he stood dutifully at Irma’s side, and regarded the novices with an almost fatherly affection.  
  
“I was wondering,” Est said. “Irma and Lucien. Are they… y’know…”  
  
Est gestured with her fingers. Silque snorted, scandalized, and slapped her hands away.  
  
“If they _are_ , it’s _hardly_ any of our business…” Silque laughed.  
  
“Can they do that? Is that, like, allowed?”  
  
“Do you have a vested interest in whether clerics of Mila take vows of chastity?” Silque teased.  
  
“Shut up!” Est hissed, and shoved Silque in the arm. Silque tittered, and patted her on the hand in apology, though she still had to stifle a smile.  
  
“What I _mean_ is,” Est continued, “they only met recently, or so I’ve heard. That’s cool, that you can meet someone when you’re, y’know. Older.”  
  
“Love can happen at any age,” Silque nodded sagely. “It’s always something to cherish.”  
  
Est fidgeted, She bumped her elbow against Silque’s, flashing her a lopsided smile. “But, y’know, it’s good that they met when they were all grown up, right? They weren’t just a pair of dumb kids. They both had time to, I dunno… know what they’re doing. Be prepared.”  
  
“I don’t think anyone’s ever ‘prepared’ to fall in love,” Silque said gently. “Love can take you by surprise.”  
  
Rinea jumped, her arms curled above her head. But when she landed, a flash of pain shot up her leg and she stumbled with a grimace-- right into Silque’s waiting arms.  
  
“Are you alright?” Silque murmured gently, easing her upright.  
  
“Yes, thank you,” Rinea cooed. “I suppose my legs aren’t quite back at their best, just yet.”  
  
“You looked lovely, just the same,” Silque murmured. Rinea leaned in and pecked her on the cheek.  
  
“Flatterer,” Rinea teased, pulling Silque into an embrace. She tucked her chin over Silque’s shoulder, and caught Est’s eye at the door. “I wasn’t aware that I had an audience this morning.”  
  
“You were amazing,” Est blurted out. “Uh. I’m, uh, Est, by the way.”  
  
Rinea smiled. “I’m Rinea. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
Est made to take Rinea’s offered hand. She gasped, and stopped short. Even Rinea’s practiced smile couldn’t hide the flicker of dismay in her eyes.  
  
“I-- I’m sorry,” Est stammered.  
  
“It’s quite alright,” Rinea mused. She lifted her hand to the light. What Est had mistaken for gloves were actually the dark stains of magic scarring, stretching up Rinea’s hands, arms, and reaching nearly to her shoulders. Her skin was blackened as if with soot, cut through with glinting veins of what looked like ice-- the physical toll of her magic, forced out without proper training, used and abused for years.  
  
“They make for quite a sight, I admit,” Rinea said. “Your shock is… understandable.”  
  
Est tried her hardest not to stare. “...I… look, this isn’t any of my business, but… how--”  
  
“...There was a man, long ago,” Rinea said quietly. “He took… many things from me. The use of my legs, the feeling in my fingers, six years of my life with my mind poisoned by Duma.”  
  
Rinea reached out, and threaded her fingers with Silque’s.  
  
“But if there was one thing he couldn’t take away from me, it was this: I love to dance,” Rinea smiled. “I love getting up at the crack of dawn and just losing myself in the feeling, in the motion. That’s my favorite time of day, to be honest. That magical moment, just before the sun comes up, when the whole world feels like it’s holding its breath. Like anything can happen. A new beginning.”  
  
Silque leaned in and pecked Rinea on the cheek. Rinea giggled, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.  
  
“Sister Silque gave me my life back,” Rinea said, beaming. “I may have lost a lot, but I’ve gained so much more. If there’s anything my time with the Dragonflight has taught me, it’s this: It’s never too late to start again.”  
  
Rinea glanced up at Silque, her smile like the moon peeking from behind the clouds. Silque pressed their foreheads together, reaching up and pulling Rinea into a kiss.  
  
Est looked away, bashful, not wanting to intrude. Though she tried not to stare, she found her gaze drawn to Rinea’s arms, looped tightly around the small of Silque’s back.  
  
When she’d first seen them, and recoiled, she’d thought Rinea’s skin had been blackened and burned. But there was something about them, now, in the morning light.  
  
The sun was creeping above the trees and the priory walls, falling in slanting rays through the windows. In that light, Rinea’s scars didn’t look so horrible. In the waxing daylight, her soot-stained skin looked like the night sky, and the ice in her arms caught the light and twinkled, like distant stars.  
  
~*~  
  
That morning, before the sun could get too high in the sky, Celica led a hunting party out into Novis’ sparse woodlands. Preparations were already underway for the festival that seven-day, and Celica was eager to complement the island’s copious supply of fish with some caught game. Est, embarrassed at the thought of merely lingering in the healing tents all day, decided to go along.  
  
They were assembling in the Novis foothills, a small crowd of townsfolk armed with shortbows, daggers, and snares. Est, in her service to the Macedon military, had some cursory skill with the bow and arrow as part of her training. But she didn’t have her own bow, and she didn’t have the heart to ask to borrow one. She lingered, aloof, cliqueless, awkward without the familiarity of her sisters beside her.  
  
Celica’s was the only familiar face among the hunting party. Est watched from a distance as she hoisted herself up onto a stunning white mare, a cloaked blonde at her side.  
  
“Are you sure you remember how to do this?” Faye was asking, a teasing lilt to her voice.  
  
“Faye,” Celica chided, “I remember how to ride.”  
  
“Oh, do you, now?” Faye grinned, cheeky. “Because I recall you also claiming you remember how to shoot, and from what I’ve seen so far? Sloppy, Celica. _Very_ sloppy.”  
  
Celica chuckled. “Well, then. Maybe when this is over I can have the master remind me of how it’s really done.”  
  
“Maybe if you ask her nicely,” Faye teased.  
  
Celica leaned over in her saddle and pressed a kiss to Faye’s hair, her hand lingering on Faye’s cheek. Faye giggled and shooed her away, swatting Celica’s mare on her rump and sending her off at a canter. Celica waved as she rode off, leading her hunting party into the woods. Faye watched her go, a warm smile on her lips.  
  
Faye took a deep breath and sighed, content. She glanced over her shoulder.  
  
“You’re staring,” Faye said.  
  
Est abruptly cleared her throat. “Right. Sorry.”  
  
Faye turned, looking Est up and down. Recognition glinted in her eyes. “...I know you. You’re Genny’s friend, right?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m Est. Or Sky, that’s what the mercs call me. I dunno, it’s not really catching on.” Est smiled, sheepish.  
  
“I’m Faye.”  
  
Est nodded to Celica’s form retreating across the field. “You know the Queen?”  
  
Faye chuckled, her smile growing wistful. “...I used to. When we were kids. Now, not so much. Not as much as I’d like.”  
  
“Oof,” Est nodded in sympathy. “I know the feeling.”  
  
“Tell me about it,” Faye said.  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“No, I mean actually tell me about it,” Faye said dryly, earning a smile from Est. “Come on. We should head out, too.”  
  
Est raised an eyebrow, glancing around the empty field. “...Do you… not have a horse?”  
  
“Please,” Faye grinned. “Only _amateurs_ hunt on _horseback_ . Follow me, and I’ll show you how a real hunter does their work.”  
  
“O-kay,” Est laughed, and followed her into the trees.  
  
The minutes bled into hours, as Faye stalked through the woods, Est at her heels. Est watched with quiet fascination as Faye meticulously set her snares. She used a little charcoal stick to draw a map of the area on the clean linen wrapped tight around her forearm as a bracer. She followed tracks, studied plants, and took samples of wild herbs, slipping them into a string of leather pouches on her belt and marking them on her map for a more thorough picking later. Est felt so slow and clumsy, following Faye’s lead. Somehow, even with her skirt swishing around her ankles and her hunting cloak draped over her shoulders, Faye was able to move through the rustling undergrowth without making a sound. Her woodcraft was incredible.  
  
“Tell me,” Est murmured, as Faye worked. “About you and Celica.”  
  
“Not much to tell,” Faye shrugged. She studied a pattern of leaves, before snipping it with a flick of her dagger and tucking the bundle of herbs into a belt pouch. “I knew her way back, when she still lived in Ram Village. She was the only other girl my age. For a year or so, we were best friends.”  
  
Faye heaved a sigh.  
  
“...She left. I didn’t see her again for a long time. And when I finally did, it was like… she was from another world.”  
  
“That’s rough,” Est nodded. “I, uh… I’ve got someone like that, too. We met before the Dragonfall, and we really hit it off… but then I had to head back home, a whole ocean away. We still wrote each other, y’know. But it wasn’t the same. And now that I’m back to see her in person, neither of us know where we stand. And, I mean, she also got _way_ cooler than I did. I’m just an army girl. But _she’s_ …” Est blew out a breath.  
  
“Too good for you?” Faye grinned, and clapped Est on the shoulder. “Hey. If it makes you feel any better, at least _you’re_ not out here trying to win the heart of the damn Queen.”  
  
“Oh, come on. She’d be lucky to have you.”  
  
“Please, Est, I’m being serious here.”  
  
“So am I!” Est huffed. She took Faye by the shoulder and turned her around to face her. “Look at you. I mean, _really_ look at you! People love the outdoorsy type. You’ve got it all! You’ve got great hair, beautiful eyes, an amazing chest-- like, _really_ amazing--”  
  
“You trying to bed _me_ , now, Miss Sky?” Faye preened.  
  
“What I’m saying is, you’re a great catch!” Est urged. “C’mon, look at you. You’re a hunter, a trapper, an herbalist. You know how to ride, you know how to shoot, you know how to cook, you know how to sew. You made your own cloak! And it’s a damn good look! You know how to wield a sword, a dagger, a bow, on foot _and_ on horseback. You even know how to use magic! Faye… you’re _kind_ of a badass! You can do it all! When did you even learn how to _do_ all this stuff?”  
  
Faye’s eyes grew dark. Est sucked in a breath, wary that she’d hit a nerve.  
  
“...Let me tell you a story,” Faye muttered. “About my parents.”  
  
“Um. Okay,” Est blinked, confused at the abrupt change of subject.  
  
“My parents were hunters. Like me,” Faye murmured. “My mom’s name was Josefine. My dad’s name was Jaden. Josie and Jaden, the village called ‘em. The happy couple.”  
  
Faye took a shuddering breath.  
  
“They taught me everything I knew about hunting, trapping, how to use a bow, all before I was ten years old. But one day, they went out to hunt. Just like any other day. Except this time, they didn’t come back.”  
  
Est sucked her teeth. “...I’m sorry.”  
  
Faye raised and lowered one shoulder. “...It is what it is. No one knows what happened, not exactly. But the way my Nana tells the story, it went like this: they got attacked by a bear. Ma got a shot off first, but missed its heart. The bear killed her before she could take another. Dad… froze. He finally took his shot, and put the bear down. But not before it could kill him, too.”  
  
“ _Naga_ ,” Est swore. Faye swiped at her eyes with the hem of her cloak.  
  
“Indecision killed my parents,” Faye continued, “and I’m scared it’s going to kill me, too. Not all at once, like a bear attack. But slowly, over years and years. You wanna know why I can do it all? Why I can do all those things that you think makes me so cool? It’s because I could never decide on what I _really_ wanted to do. Sure, I can use a sword, a dagger. I can ride a horse. I’m pretty handy with a bow. But I don’t know what my future holds. And I’m scared I never will.”  
  
Est’s chest hurt. She reached for Faye’s hand, but stopped short, wary. She cleared her throat.  
  
“...Well… right now, you’re a professional demon hunter,” Est said, managing a smile. “I think that’s pretty cool.”  
  
Faye looked at her, her lips twitching upwards. “...Thanks.”  
  
Est awkwardly opened her arms. “Do you want, like… a hug, or…?”  
  
Faye snorted, cracking a smile. She let Est pull her into an embrace, her arms looping around Est’s waist, her head leaning against the taller girl’s shoulder.  
  
“Thank you,” Faye murmured.  
  
“Any time,” Est said. “And hey, come on. It’s not all bad, is it? I mean, you don’t have everything figured out yet, but Celica’s here for now. That’s pretty nice, right?”  
  
“For now,” Faye admitted. She sighed, nuzzling into Est’s neck. “When I first pledged myself to the Dragonflight, I didn’t know what would happen next. I didn’t know what I wanted, I mean _really_ wanted. I didn’t know who I wanted to be, or who I wanted to be with. But… you’re right. Celica’s here. She’s here, she makes me happy. And she isn’t the only one. So, yeah, you’re right. It’s not all bad.”  
  
Est nodded, somber.  
  
“Sometimes, you don’t have it all figured out,” Faye mused, pensive. “But if you know what makes you happy… hold it tight. And don’t let go.”  
  
“Yeah…” Est sighed. Faye pulled her closer and gave her an affectionate squeeze. Est reached up, her hand resting gently in Faye’s hair. “Hey, Faye?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Est wriggled in Faye’s arms, grinning. “You really do have an _amazing_ chest.”  
  
“Oh, you--!”  
  
She shoved Est into a bush. Est fell on her butt, crunching leaves and twigs beneath her and chortling like a moron, while Faye rolled her eyes and stalked away.  
  
~*~  
  
The afternoon melted into evening. And, try as she might to keep herself occupied, Est still found herself drawn back to the healing tents in the priory courtyard, searching for that telltale pink gown and fluffy, rosy hair.  
  
Est returned from Celica’s hunt, priory acolytes taking their horses and ushering them back to the stables. She watched, with a knowing smile, as Celica and Faye broke off from the other townsfolk and scurried indoors, hand in hand, where Silque and Rinea were already waiting to greet them.  
  
It was a sweet, serene moment. Like something out of a fairy tale. And it made for an excellent counterpoint to the hustle and bustle of the healing tents themselves.  
  
Now this, this was a scene Est was familiar with. Every inch of floorspace devoted to wounded, robed clerics scurrying to and fro and somehow managing not to step on anybody, some patients crying out piteously, others lying so still and silent you wonder, just for an instant, if they’re already dead.  
  
A young woman stood sentinel near the entrance to the healing tents, her long lavender coat fluttering in the breeze, her hands formally clasped behind her back. She gave Est a stoic nod as she walked in, the slightest, curtest dip of her chin. Est had seen her around the island before, always dutifully following in Genny’s shadow. So if she was here, surely, so was--  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Est broke into a big, dopey grin at the mere sound of Genny’s voice. She turned, waving as Genny came running up, her arms laden with an almost comically large and unwieldy pile of medical supplies.  
  
“Hey!” Est smiled. “You got a minute?”  
  
“Of course, of course!” Genny beamed. She looked around for somewhere to put down her pile, and finding none, quickly reached out to squeeze Est’s hand. She had to quickly pull her hand back to steady what she was carrying, but that little squeeze warmed Est to her core in an instant. “How’ve you been? What have you been doing all day?”  
  
“Making friends,” Est shrugged. “You?”  
  
“This, mostly,” Genny said, sheepish. An acolyte appeared to take the boxes of medical supplies off her hands, only for Lucien to be waiting just behind with a scroll of parchment and a waiting quill. Genny took the quill and signed off on the order without ever looking away from Est. “You know how it is as a healer. Always work to be done--”  
  
There was a shout of alarm down the block of patients. A man was yelling, convulsing, while a pair of acolytes caught him by the arms and struggled to hold him down.  
  
Clerics came running past. Genny bit her lip, her eyes turning apologetic.  
  
“Listen, Est--”  
  
“It’s okay,” Est said gently. “We’ll talk later.”  
  
Genny nodded, before running off to join her fellow clerics. She gestured with an open palm, her staff appearing in her hands. Est watched her go, disappointment warring with pride. She heaved a sigh.  
  
“Feeling restless?”  
  
Est yelped in surprise. The girl in lavender was somehow right behind her, without even making a sound. Est cleared her throat.  
  
“...Yeah, actually,” Est admitted. “I’m a soldier. It’s weird for everyone to be so busy while I’m just standing around.”  
  
“I know well the feeling,” she nodded. “I’m Yuzu.”  
  
“Est,” Est replied. “Or Sky, or-- you know what? That’s my merc name, but it’s not really catching on, so, y’know, whatever.”  
  
“I might offer you a bit of diversion,” Yuzu said, “if you’d care to take this outside.”  
  
Est blinked. “Um. Wow. Okay. Listen, don’t get me wrong, you’re _super_ cute, and I _do_ like girls, but I’m kinda holding out for--”  
  
“I meant to _spar_ ,” Yuzu said dryly. “That is, if you’re up to the challenge.”  
  
Est met Yuzu’s eyes. Her lips curled into a dangerous grin.  
  
“...Let’s take this outside.”  
  
~*~  
  
They ventured out into the field beyond the priory walls. It was a fine place for a duel, even terrain, plenty of room to maneuver. The tension of their impending duel was admittedly rather undercut by the lingering crowd of curious sheep, but Yuzu, it seemed, wasn’t going to let a few oblivious sheep undermine the drama of this undertaking.  
  
Yuzu knelt, eyes closed, brow furrowed in thought. She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.  
  
She slowly, reverently unbuckled her sword belt and set her _daisho_ on the grass. Est stared with open admiration at the gorgeously crafted set, one longsword and one dagger in matching scabbards. Yuzu unbuckled the leather pouches on her hips and strapped to her upper arms, her impressive collection of throwing knives joining her swords on the grass. Finally, she stood, reached into her bracers, and threw her arms aside. A dozen shuriken buried themselves in the grass at her feet.  
  
Est whistled, impressed.  
  
“That’s quite an arsenal you’ve got there,” she said.  
  
“I don’t need it to defeat you,” Yuzu smirked.  
  
Est grinned. “You know, just looking at you, you didn’t seem the shit-talking type.”  
  
Yuzu chuckled. “I know. It’s a side of me Sensei would prefer I didn’t show.”  
  
“Reminds me of my sister,” Est nodded.  
  
“Enough talk,” Yuzu said curtly. She brandished a wooden sword, settling into a practiced stance. “...At your ready.”  
  
“Alright, kiddo…” Est exhaled. She snapped into her stance, training spear at the ready. “Show me what you’ve got.”  
  
Yuzu didn’t need to be told twice-- she shot forward like a lavender-tailed comet, her sword flashing in the fading sunlight. The field filled with the sharp cracks of wood against wood, sending inquisitive sheep hurrying away. Despite Est’s longer reach, Yuzu was so fast-- she darted inside Est’s guard, slapping aside her spearhead and curling into a spinning slash right at Est’s stomach.  
  
Est planted her spear haft on the ground, stopping Yuzu’s strike dead. She swept her lance up and shoved Yuzu back, whirling around in a two-handed swing that Yuzu was obliged to evade. Yuzu darted back out of range, braced her sword with both hands, and looked Est up and down with something approaching respect.  
  
“You’re pretty good for someone not used to fighting on foot,” Yuzu said.  
  
“You’re pretty good yourself,” Est admitted. She leveled her spear, and she and Yuzu circled each other in a predatory dance, Yuzu hunting for an opening to slip past Est’s superior reach. “You led the sweep to clear the island of any holdouts. Those were some good fights. Made me feel useful. I almost wish there were still ghouls around to fight. Is that weird?”  
  
“War is not a sport. It is a means to an end,” Yuzu said. She darted in and knocked Est’s spear aside-- Est swept her legs and she hopped back, deterred. “At least, that’s what Sensei would tell me. But I cannot deny feeling the thrill of combat. A sense of… validation. Of purpose.”  
  
Est ducked under an overhead swipe, taking a hit on her bracer before returning the favor with her spear haft against Yuzu’s thigh. Yuzu hissed and darted back, pacing, watching for her moment to strike.  
  
“Is that why you joined the Dragonflight?” Est asked.  
  
Yuzu’s eyes were unreadable. “Is that why you came to the island?”  
  
Est narrowed her eyes. “I was looking for a friend.”  
  
“Sister Genny,” Yuzu said. “I’m aware.”  
  
More swipes. More slashes. A growing staccato of their weapons against each other.  
  
“You and Genny seem pretty close,” Est said warily, as their duel slowly grew in intensity.  
  
“She saved my life, and that of my beloved Sensei, at great risk to herself,” Yuzu said, breathless, darting aside a flurry of blows. “I pledged my sword to her service.”  
  
Est frowned. A strange buzzing filled her ears, joining the rising chorus of wood against wood.  
  
“Listen,” Est began, her jaw tight. “I… I don’t want to be weird about this. But I-- I have to ask--”  
  
“Just say what you mean,” Yuzu snapped.  
  
The words were out before Est could stop them.  
  
“Do you love her?”  
  
_“What?”_ Yuzu hissed.  
  
“Do you--” Est coughed as Yuzu landed a kick to her ribs. She staggered back, her guard broken, as Yuzu came running, her sword in both hands.  
  
“Of course I do! She’s my--”  
  
Est’s spear haft cracked across Yuzu’s jaw. Undeterred, Yuzu leapt into a slash aimed right at Est’s throat. Est stopped her sword in her fist and stunned Yuzu with a headbutt, throwing her to the ground-- but Yuzu curled up like a cat and kicked her away with both legs. Est flipped over her and slammed onto her back, all the wind forced from her lungs. They laid there, wheezing, in a pained quiet.  
  
“...If this were a real sword, you would have lost a hand,” Yuzu murmured.  
  
“...Right,” Est coughed. “I forgot. Maybe we can call this a tie.”  
  
Yuzu nodded mutely, massaging the ache from her forehead with her fingers.  
  
“...Hey.” Est began. “Look, it’s… it’s fine if you do. But be honest. Do you… do you love Genny?”  
  
“Of course I do,” Yuzu said, adamant. “She’s my sister.”  
  
“...Oh.” Est sighed, staring up at the sky. She pillowed her hands behind her head, so she and Yuzu looked less like two fighters after a duel and more like two friends, picking out shapes in the clouds.  
  
Yuzu reached out, and touched Est’s arm.  
  
“Do _you_ ?” Yuzu asked.  
  
That was a question and a half. Est crinkled her brow, and blew out a sigh.  
  
“...I don’t know.”  
  
~*~  
  
Dinner at the priory came and went, not that Est was able to enjoy it. True, she was finally able to see Genny after being preoccupied all day. But though she sat close enough to press their knees together under the table, they didn’t get too much time to themselves. Lucien, as nice as he was, still brought a tome full of festival prep work to discuss over dinner, and between him and the other clerics eagerly pressing the Dragonflight for stories of their exploits, Est could scarcely get a word in.  
  
Not that she’d know what to say, if she could. Est’s head was spinning. She excused herself soon after dinner was done, and found herself roaming into town.  
  
Because if she couldn’t find any clarity or peace of mind in a church, then surely, _surely_ she could find some solace in her cups.  
  
Est threw her head back and downed half her glass in one regrettable swallow, before clapping it down onto the tabletop and heaving a sigh. She looked down into her glass, seeking answers. What she found was her own reflection, blurred by the ale.  
  
Someone put an arm around Est’s shoulder and gave her a friendly shake.  
  
“So!” Vesper announced to the table, lifting her own tankard. “Ladies-- and Saber-- it sounds like lil’ Miss Sky over here is having some relationship troubles.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Est grumbled. “I’m just having a pint after a long day, that’s all.”  
  
“Oh, sure,” Saber chuckled. “And that’s why you’re drowning your sorrows with us old-timers instead of hanging out with the cool kids.”  
  
“Don’t lump me in with you, hon,” Sonya chided, a hand to her chest in faux-affront. “ _I’m_ still in the prime of my life.”  
  
“Thirty-one years young,” Shade drawled.  
  
“I am not ‘drowning my sorrows’,” Est insisted. “I’m just staying hydrated. Everybody knows not to drink the water out here. Ale’s safer.”  
  
“It’s all the alcohol,” Vesper chimed in.  
  
“No, actually,” Shade said. “The ale is safer than the water, but that’s actually more to do with the copious amounts of boiling involved in the brewing process, rather than the alcohol in the finished product.”  
  
“Oh, Professor, tell me more…” Sonya purred.  
  
“Get a room,” Saber teased.  
  
“Now _there’s_ an idea!” Vesper chirped. “Maybe all you need is a good fuck!”  
  
Sonya snorted. Saber rolled his eye and threw his hands up.  
  
“What kind of advice is _that_ ?” Saber wondered.  
  
“‘Good’?” Shade offered. She waggled her eyebrows, getting cozy in the crook of Sonya’s arm.  
  
“Sure, Shade. ‘Just fuck it out’, _that’s_ what we’ll tell the kid.”  
  
“Now hear me out, big guy,” Shade continued. “Maybe _that_ is what she needs to clear her head. A roll in the hay, no strings attached, just to clear up any confusion. I mean, who knows if it’s love, or it’s just hormones…”  
  
“I’ve had some of my finest epiphanies the morning after,” Sonya shrugged.  
  
“I hear that,” Vesper said. Sonya clinked her glass against hers.  
  
“Now hold on!” Saber cut in. “The kid’s clearly hung up something fierce. _I_ think we oughta be more supportive about her getting out there an’ followin’ her heart.”  
  
“And I think she’s just a little pent up,” Shade countered.  
  
Est groaned, her head in her hands.  
  
“You sound like my sister,” she muttered, glancing up at Saber. She turned to Shade. “And _you_ sound like my _other_ sister.”  
  
“This sister of yours sounds like she gets it,” Shade said, vindicated.  
  
“Oh, she _gets_ it,” Sonya said. Shade choked and giggled into her arm.  
  
“Guys. Guys!” Est snapped. “I don’t just need to get _laid_ , okay?! First of all, I’ve got a real situation here, and I don’t appreciate you all talking like I’m just a horny teenager.”  
  
“Yeah!” Vesper cut in. “She’s twenty-two, she’s a horny young adult!”  
  
“Second of all!” Est continued, “I don’t have to worry about getting any. I’m a _soldier_ .” A pause. “...It _happens_ .”  
  
“Point,” Shade admitted.  
  
“Third of all, I--”  
  
“Order up!” a barmaid announced. Est trailed off, sheepish, as she set a bottle on the table alongside a stack of shot glasses. The table chorused their thanks. Vesper set the shot glasses upright, while Saber took the bottle and started pouring.  
  
Est caught the glass Saber slid into her palm, and knocked it back. She hissed as it went down, the whiskey settling warm and bittersweet in her chest.  
  
“...Third of all,” Est said, quietly, “I know it’s easy to treat this all like a big joke, but… I really could use some insight, here. Normally, I would ask my sisters for help with this kinda thing. Maybe even my boss. But they’re not that much older than me, and I don’t really… _have_ anyone else, so…”  
  
The whole table went quiet. Est scowled. She took the bottle from Saber’s hands, and poured herself another shot.  
  
“Listen, lass,” Saber began, more gently than Est had ever heard him. “I’ll admit, I might not be the best guy to ask about this. I’m a merc, spent life on the road. Never really settled down. But I can guess. Sometimes you find somebody that makes you want to leave the road behind, put down roots. You find somebody who can’t always be on the road with ya, everywhere you go, but they’re somebody who’ll always be waiting for you when ya get back. Tell me if I’m close.”  
  
Est sniffed. “...Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right.”  
  
“I’ll drink to that,” Saber said. He poured himself a shot, and raised his glass.  
  
Est looked at him, almost managing a smile. She tapped her glass against his, and slugged it down.  
  
Saber refilled Est’s glass, and then poured another glass and slid it across the table. Vesper caught it in a cupped palm.  
  
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever thought about really settling down,” Vesper admitted. “I’ve got brine in my veins. I’ll be sailing until the day I die. I’ve had folks in and out of my crew over the years--” Vesper thumped a hand into Saber’s chest. “--this ugly mug included. And lemme tell ya, maybe I’ve never met that one person who’d make me hang up my captain’s hat for good. But know someone long enough, fight beside them, struggle beside them… That’s a kind of love. What do you say to that?”  
  
Est nodded, thoughtful. She raised her glass, tapped it against Vesper’s, and the two of them knocked them back.  
  
Shade pursed her lips, idly sloshing the remnants of her wine around in her glass. When Saber poured her a shot and slid it across the table, a shadow on the tabletop flicked the glass over in front of Est.  
  
“My turn, huh?” Shade asked, somber. She sighed, and took a sip of wine. “...Listen, kiddo. Maybe this isn’t what you want to hear, but… Some people? Some people aren’t forever. And that’s okay.”  
  
Her eyes flicked up to Sonya, who met her eyes and pulled her close.  
  
“You never know if someone’ll be your happily ever after, or if they’ll just be your happily-for-a-little-while.” Shade murmured, leaning into Sonya’s embrace. “But ask yourself, little one. What are you more afraid of: losing someone? Or never having them at all?”  
  
Est sank into her seat, eyes wide. She reached out, took her glass and the one meant for Shade, and knocked them both back, one after the other.  
  
“Hey,” Saber urged. “Maybe you should take it easy.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Est muttered. She reached for the bottle.  
  
Sonya grabbed it first.  
  
Est chuckled mirthlessly, gazing up into Sonya’s dark eyes. Sonya had nudged Shade off of her lap and stood, raising the bottle and emptying its contents in one long, caramel-brown stream. There was just enough left for one more shot.  
  
“Well, Miss Sonya?” Est asked, her chin propped up on her fist. “What do you think?”  
  
Sonya raised the glass, studying it in the tavern’s dim candlelight. On the tabletop below, her other hand found Shade’s with a squeeze.  
  
“I think,” Sonya began, “if it had been years since _I_ last saw someone, I’d be worried, too.”  
  
Est swore she felt her heart stop. She stared, working her jaw.  
  
“I think I’d be wondering what had changed since last we met,” Sonya said softly. “How the world had changed. How I had changed. I think I would enjoy what time I did get to have with them. But part of me, deep down, would also wonder how long it would last. If I was worth it, if we were worth it. If this home was the fairy tale ending we’ve been waiting for. Or if it was all too good to be true.”  
  
Sonya raised the glass to her lips. She knocked it back, hissed as it went down, and then clapped the shot glass face-down on the tabletop, meeting Est’s eyes.  
  
“I think you should talk about this, little one,” Sonya said firmly. “And I think the only reason you’re talking to us ‘old-timers’ is because you’re too scared to talk to _her_ .”  
  
Sonya stalked away, Shade following in her shadow. Est stared at the cluster of shot glasses on the table in front her, her hands trembling.  
  
“...I think I need another drink,” Est said, hoarse.  
  
Vesper put a hand on Est’s shoulder and squeezed, while Saber got up, and called for another round.  
  
~*~  
  
The following morning, Est woke up to three things: a killer hangover, a quick moment with Genny at breakfast, and an invitation-- to join the Dimitris family on the coast for a bit of fishing.  
  
Little Hope was still not quite old enough to swim, so she was obliged to stay at the bungalow with Teela. Est herself lingered on the beach, studying the harpoon clutched in her hands. But Mae, Boey, Boey’s father and his brothers all took to the waves with gusto, filling the air with their laughter.  
  
Tom waded back up to the beach, harpoon over his shoulder, water streaming down his sculpted form. The sight of him, bare-chested and glistening under the golden Novis sun, was almost enough to stir something within the one-tenth of Est’s soul that was still attracted to men, at least until she remembered that this was someone’s dad.  
  
“You doing alright there, Sky?” Tom wondered.  
  
Est wanted to tell him that she was far too hungover to currently enjoy the garish sunlight and all the shrieking laughter. Instead, she settled for: “Yeah, I’m alright.”  
  
“If you can handle a spear, you can handle a harpoon,” Tom grinned. “And seeing you fight, back during the attack, I _know_ you can handle a spear. It’s aiming through the water that’s the tricky part.”  
  
Est put on her best cocksure smile. “I think I can figure it out.”  
  
“Maybe someday I can take you and the rest of Boey’s friends out on my boat,” Tom nodded. “We can sail out to where the _real_ fish are-- but, then again, there’s nothing like the feeling of wading through the water. Good luck!”  
  
Est forced a smile, and sent him off with a wave. As soon as he had his back turned, she was heaving a sigh, leaning heavily on the haft of her harpoon.  
  
Boey appeared, standing in the shallows.  
  
“The water’s fine, if you want to come in,” he offered.  
  
“I’m coming,” Est shrugged. “Just give me a minute.”  
  
“Is everything alright?” Boey asked.  
  
“Are all the men in your family such worrywarts?” Est grumbled.  
  
Boey shrugged. “I must get it from my father.”  
  
“Along with his sculpted physique,” Est drawled.  
  
“Yeah, I _wish_ ,” Boey rolled his eyes. He nodded towards his brothers and Mae out in the surf, each loudly claiming how they would catch a fish to put the other two to shame. “Listen. I actually came here to deliver a message. I, uh… I apologize in advance.”  
  
“That bad, huh?” Est asked.  
  
Boey cleared his throat. “My younger brother, Orie. He thinks you look, quote, ‘finer than the sand you’re standing on’.”  
  
Est snorted. “Is… Is that right?”  
  
“He may have said some other things,” Boey said flatly. “Like, for instance, how one should never miss an opportunity to impress an older woman.”  
  
Est barked out a laugh. “Wow. An ‘older woman’. _That’s_ new…”  
  
“I… am _so_ … sorry,” Boey said, a hand over his face.  
  
“It’s fine,” Est shrugged. “He’s hardly the only one dealing with a crush.”  
  
A pause. Est blinked, glancing up in alarm. Boey met her eyes, curious.  
  
“Do you… want to talk about--”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Est said, entirely too quickly.  
  
Boey raised a dubious eyebrow.  
  
Est groaned. “Listen. I know your heart’s in the right place. But I was hanging out with Saber and his girl gang last night, if you know what I mean, so. I’ve already got one headache. I don’t need to talk about this and give myself another one.”  
  
Boey crossed his arms, stubborn. He lifted a hand, nonchalantly studying his fingernails.  
  
“...Well, if you want to talk about what’s going on, there’s a chance I can help you with _one_ of those headaches,” Boey said lightly. “And as for the other, well. I can tell you right now, there’s no better hangover cure than a nice, bracing dip in the ocean.”  
  
Est glared at him. “...You wouldn’t dare.”  
  
Boey looked her right in the eyes.  
  
He snapped his fingers.  
  
The sand abruptly shifted under Est’s feet. She shrieked in surprise, flailed her arms for balance, and toppled face-first into the freezing water.  
  
Est burst up from underwater with a shivering gasp, huffing in outrage. Boey had just enough time to chuckle at her expense, emerald light glinting at his fingertips, before Est charged up to him and tackled him into the waves.  
  
~*~  
  
Est spent a day out on the water with the Dimitris family, joining them when they retired to their bungalow. Most of their day’s catch went to the island’s food stores in preparation for the festival that weekend, but their biggest fish-- Tom’s, naturally-- they took back home. That night, Est ate like a king, or at least like the king of an island country.  
  
The Dimitris family bungalow was pretty cramped, all told. It made the priory’s spartan living quarters look practically lavish, and Boey, for his part, seemed uncomfortably aware of this. But as someone who’d spent much of her life crammed onto a single straw pallet in the attic with her sisters or in a barracks with a dozen other people, seeing the Dimitris family at home was downright novel. There was something about the way they moved around each other that Est found utterly captivating. Boey’s family made the space their own, transforming it from cramped to cozy just by being themselves within it, and it made Est’s heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite explain.  
  
Of course, having so many people in so small a space got _very_ hot, very quickly, so not long after dinner was done, Est excused herself to go get some air.  
  
She lay back on the short, scrubby grass with a sigh, watching the sun paint the surf gold and feeling the cool wind off the water.  
  
After a moment, Boey appeared beside her without a word. They spent a long while together, in a mostly comfortable silence-- “mostly” because while Est had no problem whatsoever with Boey’s company, her own anxious mind was much less welcome.  
  
Eventually, Mae came looking for them.  
  
“There you are,” Mae announced, plopping down in the dirt beside them. “Y’know, Bo, if you keep Est all to yourself like this, you’re gonna break Orie’s little teenage heart.”  
  
“Mila forbid,” Boey rolled his eyes.  
  
“He dunked me in the water, and then I tackled him, so that _basically_ makes us best friends,” Est explained.  
  
“Is that how they do it in Macedon?” Mae wondered. “You beat someone up, now they’re your buddy?”  
  
“You know it!” Est grinned. They high fived. “What about you, though? Has Orie ever had a little puppy crush on you?”  
  
“Nah,” Mae waved the thought away. “I’ve known Boey’s folks for over a decade. Orie can’t see me like that. I’m practically part of the family already.”  
  
“One day, we’ll make that official,” Boey said lightly. Mae squawked and punched him in the arm.  
  
“Don’t _say_ shit like that! I might think you’re serious!” Mae hissed, her cheeks pink.  
  
“It’s nice, though, that you’re all so close,” Est said, wistful. She sat up and leaned her chin on her knees, her eyes heavy-lidded. “I never really… well…”  
  
Mae and Boey exchanged looks.  
  
“So, um,” Mae said gently. “Thinking about Genny, huh?”  
  
There was no point in denying it. “Yeah,” Est sighed.  
  
“But... not… _talking_ about Genny?”  
  
Est scrunched up her face, affronted. “I’m working up to that, okay?”  
  
“Listen, Est,” Boey offered. “We’ve known Genny pretty much our whole lives. We love her. And you’re our friend, too. If there’s anybody who you can talk to about this, it’s us.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Est fidgeted. “I guess I’m not… comfortable showing you guys just _how_ clueless I am about this stuff. I mean, look at you two. You guys have got it all figured out.”  
  
Mae and Boey glanced at each other. They grinned, snickering.  
  
“That’s not us in the slightest,” Boey said.  
  
“I’ve never figured anything out, ever, in my life,” Mae said.  
  
“Oh, come on,” Est protested. “You guys are, like, the Queen’s left and right hands. Your little sister is a saint, and you two are professional demon hunters. You two wrote the purification spell that let Genny become the first person in history to free a mind from darkness! Me? I’m twenty-two years old, and I’m nothing but a lovesick idiot with a crush.”  
  
“So?” Boey scoffed. “So am I.”  
  
“Shit, I’m _still_ that at twenty-three,” Mae grinned.  
  
Est sighed, sinking down onto her knees. Boey sat up, studying her.  
  
“Listen to me, Est,” Boey began. “Do you want to know what I think?”  
  
Est merely grunted in reply, gazing out at the ocean.  
  
Boey exhaled. He reached out and took Mae’s hand, meeting her eyes in a wordless question. She nodded.  
  
“If you ask me,” Boey began, “nobody who’s in love has it ‘all figured out’. I certainly don’t. I don’t know it all right now, and I certainly didn’t back then. Back then, I was wondering if I liked boys, and Mae didn’t know who she was yet, either.”  
  
Est sat up with a gasp. She turned to Mae, a hand lingering over her own chest.  
  
“Wait. So you… you’re like--”  
  
Mae nodded, smiling. In an instant, Est felt a kinship like an ember in her chest. She could get up and hug Mae, right then and there. Or at the very least tackle her into the water.  
  
“Love means different things for different people,” Boey continued. “For some people, love can mean history, while for others, love can mean the future. Personally, I think love is, above all else, a promise. A commitment. An anchor, something to hold onto and keep yourself steady when the rest of the world seems to be moving too fast.”  
  
“It’s knowing that, no matter what happens, you still have them,” Mae offered. “It’s not knowing what you’d do without them, and then never having to find out.”  
  
“Listen, guys, I…” Est clutched her temples, blowing out a haggard sigh.  
  
“Talk to us, Est,” Mae urged. “We’re your friends.”  
  
“No, it’s _because_ you’re my friends that I’m so scared of fucking this up!” Est snapped. “Listen! I’m not like you, okay? A-And I’m not like your parents, either!”  
  
“...Oh, she heard that already, huh…?” Mae muttered.  
  
“Dad _loves_ telling that story…” Boey sighed.  
  
“You’re talking to me about romance when your parents met in the most stupidly romantic way possible,” Est growled. “They were abducted by pirates and fought their way out of captivity together! _Anybody_ could fall in love after pulling a stunt like _that!_ But look at me, and what _I_ have to work with. I wish I could be like Tom and Teela, alright? I _wish_ I could be a ripped-as-fuck fisherman and a hot mom who punches out creeps!”  
  
“...I’m going to ignore that these are my _parents_ you’re talking about…” Boey grumbled.  
  
“Your parents fell in love like it was a fairy tale,” Est finished, resigned. “But I’m not a hero. I’m just a dumb kid. And it’ll take a miracle for someone like Exalted Saint Genny to fall in love with someone like me.”  
  
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Mae threw her hands up. “Are you serious right now? What, did you just _forget_ how you two got along swimmingly on our pilgrimage way back when? Genny adores you! How could you possibly think anything else?”  
  
“Because,” Est seethed, “it was _six years ago._ A lot can change in six years. I don’t know where we stand anymore, I don’t know if we can just pick up where we left off. For all I know, the only reason she even started talking to me was because there wasn’t anyone else to choose from! What if-- what if I’m not anything special, huh? What if it wasn’t a fairy tale meet cute, it wasn’t fate, it wasn’t providence, it was just--”  
  
“...proximity,” Boey breathed. He grimaced, his jaw tight. Suddenly, he couldn’t look Mae in the eye.  
  
Mae let out a shuddering breath.  
  
“What’s so wrong with that?”  
  
Est blinked, and looked up. “What?”  
  
Mae got up, clenching her fists. “What’s so wrong with that? Huh? Tell me!”  
  
Est shook her head, staring at the ground. “I’m just-- nothing special.”  
  
Mae took her by the collar and fiercely met her eyes.  
  
“ _Who. The fuck. Cares?!_ ” Mae bellowed. “Who _cares_ about any of that shit? So you’re nothing special-- _none of us_ are! Who the fuck were we before we got wrapped up in all this bullshit? I was an orphan who washed up on the beach! Boey was just the guy next door! Before Celica was a queen, she was a little girl with a fucked up family! Before Genny was a saint, she was a girl who tended sheep and just wanted a spare hour or two to write her novel! Look at the rest of our merry band, would you? We’ve got a nun, a farmgirl, two sailors, two sorceresses, a bodyguard and a disgraced noble who spent the last _six years_ going through the breakup of a lifetime!”  
  
Mae stabbed a finger into Est’s chest.  
  
“Love can happen anywhere,” she declared. “It’s happening _everywhere_ . That’s the whole damn point! You don’t love Genny because she’s a saint, you love her because she’s her! She doesn’t love you because you’re a hero-- she loves you because you’re you! Love can happen anywhere, to anyone-- _that_ is the miracle!”  
  
Est stared at her, speechless. Mae felt a hand on her shoulder, and she exhaled, stepping back and taking Boey’s hand with a squeeze. Mae met her gaze.  
  
“Your love might not be something the bards will sing about,” Mae said softly. “But it’s already better than a fairy tale. It’s _real_ .”  
  
~*~  
  
If Est’s love was real, it was a lot realer than she was ready for. The next few days passed in a blur. Est was so preoccupied with the reality of her feelings for Genny that she honestly couldn’t remember how she spent her time.  
  
Eventually, with the festival only a day away, Est found herself in the priory shrine. Candles glimmered in the evening light, and Mila’s stone visage loomed overhead, stoic, inscrutable. Est gazed up at the goddess, sighed, and knelt on the cushion at her feet.  
  
“Y’know, I technically don’t even believe in you,” Est muttered, resting her chin on her crossed arms. “Across the sea, we believe in Naga. She’s a dragon, too. Did you know each other? Do all dragons know each other? Sorry, that’s probably racist.”  
  
“Est?”  
  
Est squawked in surprise and scrambled to her feet.  
  
“Uh-- Your Highness! Or is it Your Majesty? Uh…”  
  
“Don’t you start,” Celica chided, smiling. “‘Celica’ is fine.”  
  
“Right,” Est cleared her throat. “So, uh. What are you doing here?”  
  
Celica raised an eyebrow. “...I live here.”  
  
“...Right.”  
  
Celica giggled. “You know, you don’t seem like the shrine-going type.”  
  
“I’m not,” Est shrugged. Her smile grew rueful. “But, y’know. I’ve spent the last week asking people for advice. What’s one more, even if they are a statue?”  
  
“It sounds like you’ve talking to everyone except the one person you should be talking to the most,” Celica said.  
  
“Please tell me you mean Genny and that this won’t turn into a lecture about religion,” Est drawled.  
  
Celica laughed, giving Est a friendly pat on the arm. Est sighed, sinking onto a pew bench. Celica sat beside her, her hands primly folded in her lap.  
  
“A lot can happen in six years,” Est murmured. “Look at me. Look at Genny. Shit, look at you.”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding,” Celica agreed. “I’m married, for one thing.”  
  
Est blew out a sigh. “...Y’know, I tried the whole ‘get married after the war’ thing. It seemed like the thing to do.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Est laughed mirthlessly. “Let’s just say our love didn’t last forever. But it turns out there’s always plenty of war.”  
  
Celica nodded, somber. “It wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“It kind of was,” Est shrugged. “It was a dumb decision made by a pair of dumb kids. Or maybe one dumb kid, and a grown man who should’ve known better. At least that’s what Palla told him, before she broke his jaw.”  
  
Celica winced.  
  
“What about you?” Est wondered. “It was a dumb decision to get married, but at least it was _my_ decision. You didn’t even get a choice. Now you and Alm are stuck together.”  
  
“Alm’s my _friend_ ,” Celica said firmly. “Maybe ours isn’t exactly a thrilling, passionate romance, but I still care about him too much to say we’re merely ‘stuck together’. In fact, Alm was the one who encouraged me to join Genny on her adventure in the first place.”  
  
“So you can run around, slaying demons with a bunch of your old flames?” Est snickered. “I don’t know if that makes him a great husband or the dumbest one alive.”  
  
“He _is_ great,” Celica smiled. “I mean, he can _also_ be pretty dumb. But before we packed up the Thorn and first set out for Novis, we all sat down and talked. All of us-- me, Alm, Faye, Mae, Boey. We talked it out. We came to an… understanding. It’s still early. But so far...”  
  
Est crinkled her brow. “Does that… does that work for you guys?”  
  
Celica giggled. “...Well, as someone once told me, hearts aren’t pies to be cut into pieces. They’re a hearth, and plenty of people can gather ‘round and keep warm.”  
  
“Who told you that?”  
  
“Someone I love,” Celica said gently. “Someone wiser and stronger than she gives herself credit for. Someone who’s probably wondering why her dear friend Est has been avoiding her for the past week.”  
  
Est groaned, slumping down in her chair. Celica reached out, and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  
  
“Just talk to her,” Celica urged. “It worked for me. It’ll work for you.”  
  
“Listen, Celica,” Est sighed. “It isn’t the same. I’m not like you. Like, no offense, but you’ve got options.”  
  
“Choosing one of my friends and losing the others is _not_ an option,” Celica said, adamant.  
  
Est threw her hands up.  
  
“Okay, well-- I’m sorry, Celica, but I don’t have people lining up at _my_ door. I’ve just got Genny. I’ve just got the one shot at this, and if I fuck it up, it’s over. I just…”  
  
Est exhaled, sagging in her seat. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist.  
  
“...I just… I don’t… trust myself not to fuck this up,” Est admitted. “I’ve made some really dumb decisions. Marrying Abel was one I was lucky enough to back out of. I’m older now, _hopefully_ a little smarter. Genny feels different, she feels right, but how do I know that? You were able to make _your_ marriage work. But I’m not like you. What if I can’t make this work? Maybe Abel wasn’t right for me, but maybe _I_ wasn’t right for him. What if I’m not right for Genny? What if I’m not right for _anyone_ ?”  
  
“Est,” Celica scolded, “you stop that line of thinking right now.”  
  
“Why?” Est laughed, but her eyes were wet. “You were just telling me off for not talking enough. Now that I’m going, you want me to stop?”  
  
“Est,” Celica said, more firmly. “You’re a great girl. Anyone would be lucky to have you. But _I_ can’t tell you if you’re right for Genny. No one can tell you that, except her.”  
  
“What if she tells me I’m not right for her?” Est demanded. “What if-- What if she _thinks_ I’m right for her, a-and then I just run out on her like I did with Abel?”  
  
“I can’t answer that,” Celica said. She nodded to the statue above them. “And neither can Mila.”  
  
Est blew out a shaky sigh. She stubbornly dabbed at her eyes.  
  
Celica gently drew an arm around her and pulled her close.  
  
“Talk to her, Est.”  
  
~*~  
  
“‘Talk to her’, she told me,” Est said. “And then guess what? I didn’t! I put it off, and I put it off, and now here we are, the festival’s in full swing, and I’m not even out there stuffing my face with grilled fish, I’m here on a park bench telling a complete stranger my sob story.”  
  
Est buried her face in her hands and slumped down in her seat, letting out a long, exhausted groan. She peeked between her fingers up at her companion. The pilgrim’s grey eyes glinted like stars in the darkness of her hood, but otherwise, her face was unreadable.  
  
Est sighed, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she huffed. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I sat down here and just bombarded you with my baggage for what’s gotta be at least an hour by now. But you’re just-- your face is just-- I can’t tell what you’re thinking. I’m not a mind reader here. So if you want me to shut up and leave you alone, I get that, believe me, I can’t blame you. But could you just… say… anything? Please? The silence is just-- it’s driving me nuts.”  
  
The pilgrim closed her eyes. She lifted a hand and drew back her hood, revealing dark, sun-kissed skin and a mane of flowing curls the pale grey-green of seafoam.  
  
Est blinked, stammering.  
  
“Oh, _wow_ . Um. Sorry. When I decided to blurt all this out to a stranger, I wasn’t expecting you to be so… uhhh….”  
  
The pilgrim turned, and met Est’s eyes. In the moonlight, her gray eyes shone like pearls in the deep.  
  
“...Walk with me, child,” Novis said.  
  
~*~  
  
Novis led Est out of the town square. They went past the steaming food stalls, past the glittering lights and excited barkers of festival games. They went up the hill overlooking the beach, ablaze with light, lanterns and festival bonfires, beyond the sound of laughter and dancing, until at last they arrived.  
  
The priory had been emptied. Practically the entire island had gathered either in town or on the beach, leaving the priory grounds startlingly quiet and still.  
  
While Est had been busy fretting over her relationship troubles, Genny had been busy as well. She’d spent the last week nursing those wounded in Leviathan’s attack back to health, adamant that every soul on Novis would have a chance to attend the festival. Now, Lucien, Irma and the senior clerics were escorting the walking wounded down to the beach to partake in the festivities. True to Genny’s word, and as a clear point of pride, there was not a single patient left on the priory grounds too injured to join the party.  
  
Novis walked the priory’s empty halls, cast in the brilliant moonlight. She stopped before the shrine, gazing up at the carved likeness of Mila looming overhead.  
  
“Hey,” Est said, following at her heels. “Not to, like, shit on religion, but I kinda already tried coming to the church, so…”  
  
“In my day,” Novis began, her voice so smoky and rich it made Est shut up immediately, “I, too, had one whom I loved. My wife, you see. She is… gone, now.”  
  
Est swallowed hard. “...I’m sorry.”  
  
Novis looked up, her fingers lingering on Mila’s sculpted stone cheek.  
  
“My wife. My pearl,” Novis said, with a depth of fondness and grief that cut right to Est’s core. “She could, admittedly, be… difficult to get along with, at times. She was younger than I. Stubborn, strong-willed. Every argument of ours was an earthquake. Every fight, a flood.”  
  
Est blinked, puzzled. “...Well, that’s… poetic.”  
  
“But despite her temper, she was my pearl,” Novis murmured. “And I cherished her with a love as deep as the sea.”  
  
Est nodded, unsure what to say. Novis withdrew her hand from the statue of Mila, and turned to face her.  
  
“Do you know how pearls are formed?”  
  
“No,” Est admitted.  
  
“A grain of sand makes its way inside an oyster. The oyster, feeling something amiss, covers this intruder with layer after layer of a fluid called nacre. This, over time, hardens into a pearl.” Novis smiled sadly, clasping a hand over her heart. “A pearl is formed much like love. Something slips past your shell, and over time, grows into something… beautiful.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think my love is like a pearl,” Est said, sheepish. “For me, it’s less of a slow bloom and more of a week of constant anxiety and terrible pressure.”  
  
“Diamonds are made under pressure,” Novis offered.  
  
“Okay, well, I don’t feel like a diamond, either!” Est huffed. “I just feel like a dumb kid in over her head. I’m stressed. I’m fried. I’ve been worrying about this all week. Is it supposed to feel this way? Genny always tells me love heals. If that’s true, this doesn’t feel like love. It feels like a hurricane inside my head.”  
  
“Love is a tempest,” Novis said sagely. “But it is also a sanctuary.”  
  
“Then help me,” Est begged. “Help me find a way out of this storm. Help me stop worrying. Tell me that I’m going to make it through this alright.”  
  
“It’s not up to me,” Novis said. “It’s up to you.”  
  
“What if I can’t do it?” Est pleaded, desperate.  
  
“Do you love her?”  
  
“I do, but--” Est swallowed. “...What if love isn’t enough?”  
  
“Sometimes, it isn’t,” Novis said simply. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth having. That it isn’t worth chasing.”  
  
“What if we can’t work this out?” Est demanded. “What if-- What if she’s just as scared as I am and we’re just stuck in between? What if she says no? What if-- What if she says yes, a-and then I fuck it up for both of us? What if I screw this up so badly I lose her forever?”  
  
“Then it will hurt,” Novis smiled sadly. “It will hurt, as it did for me. But the World did not end.”  
  
Est stared at her. She worked her jaw, opened her mouth as if to say something, closed it again. She heaved a sigh, and sank down onto a pew bench. She closed her eyes, and buried her head in her hands.  
  
She felt a strong hand on her shoulder. It lingered there for a moment, then was gone.  
  
“Est?”  
  
Est blew out a sigh. She lifted her head.  
  
Genny was waiting just down the hall.  
  
“There you are,” Genny said, gliding up to Est’s bench and dropping down beside her. “I thought you’d be at the festival. Everyone’s looking for you.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Est said, sheepish. “I was just…”  
  
Est glanced around, but Novis was nowhere to be found. She blinked, puzzled, before turning back to Genny.  
  
“...thinking,” Est finished. “I’ve… had a lot of time for that, lately.”  
  
“I’m sorry this week has been so hectic,” Genny said. “I’ve been so busy in the healing tents, I’ve barely been able to see you.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Est said. “I mean, I’ve been busy, too.”  
  
Genny nodded. She offered her hand, palm up, on the bench between them. Est took it, after a moment’s hesitation.  
  
“Listen, Gen,” Est began. “Do you… do you wanna go check out the festival? You are the guest of honor, after all.”  
  
“I don’t know...” Genny said. “I kinda feel bad, after all the work Irma and Lucien and everybody else has put into it. But it’s kinda loud, and crowded, and…”  
  
“Not really your thing,” Est said. “I feel that.”  
  
Genny smiled. She reached up and shyly tucked one of her curls behind her ear.  
  
“...Honestly, I think I’d rather just be here with you.”  
  
Est’s cheeks turned pink. She cleared her throat and looked away. Genny laced their fingers together and squeezed.  
  
“Est,” Genny murmured. “Can we… can we talk?”  
  
Est exhaled, long and low. She met Genny’s eyes, and gave her hand a squeeze.  
  
“...Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”  
  
So they talked, together, cast in candlelight and the radiant moon high above. Novis lingered just out of earshot, cast in the shadow of the statue of Mila. Novis clasped a hand over her heart, before reaching up and clasping the hand of Mila’s sculpted likeness.  
  
“Mila provides,” Novis murmured. And then she was gone.  
  
Est and Genny sat together on a pew in the priory, fingers laced between them. Beyond those halls, the island was a storm of activity, the festival in full swing. But between the revelers on the beach and the hurricane in Est’s head, Est managed to find the eye of the storm.  
  
It was here, right here, in Genny’s eyes, her smile, her voice, her hand in hers, and the warmth in Est’s chest that silenced the storm of voices that had been fraying her nerves all week.  
  
Genny squeezed her hand, a wordless question in her eyes. Est pulled her closer, until their knees were touching, and Genny leaned her head into the crook of her arm.  
  
This was their sanctuary.  
  
This was love.  
  
~*~


End file.
